


TWC3: Forever Young

by Zebeckras



Series: The Webfoot Chronicles [3]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebeckras/pseuds/Zebeckras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third in the Webfoot Chronicles continuity; while trying to figure out whether or not Beth is a supervillain, Darkwing must also deal with bigger - or smaller - problems when he faces Quackerjack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I, Chapter 1

  
In the early morning, on a Tuesday, Michael Jennings woke up in his cell and waited for the sound of the bells. After a few moments, he heard it; it always came.  


  
The bells heralded the coming of his captor, who had been keeping him imprisoned for the past four days now. Michael, along with his various fellow prisoners, sat in silence as the jingling came closer.  


  
At age 42, Michael Jennings had a business degree and pulled in a six-figure salary; he was near the top of the ladder in his company, a trusted advisor to the CEO, and he negotiated with a variety of other people - vendors, fellow businessmen, and your general everyday drones.  


The one person he didn't seem to be able to negotiate with was the person who was holding him here.  
The jingling grew louder and then the figure came around the corner. He was grinning; he was always grinning. With his huge smile fixed, the criminal sang out, "Heeeey kids, what time is it?"  


Michael kept silent, but the various people surrounding him obliged the jester. "It's Quackerjack fun time," they answered in a tired, unhappy unison.  


"That's right!" said the jester, far too animated for this early in the morning. "And today you all get your choice of your very own fun-fun-FUN toys!" He reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of harmless-looking objects: a frilly fashion doll, and a teddy bear. "Now, admittedly, I was thinking more of the girls when I went with this one," he said offhandedly, indicating the doll, "but there's really no reason to adhere too strictly to gender roles now is there? So - line up!"  


No one moved.  


Quackerjack's smile slipped a notch or two. "Oh come on guys, how do you know if you'll like it until you try it?"  


Michael and the others knew better by this point than to try any of Quackerjack's toys; they all looked harmless at first glance but they all had some kind of psychotic twist to them. He remembered seeing that teddy bear the first day he'd been there; it had some kind of switchblade hidden in it. And he didn't know much about the fashion doll but he was willing to bet it was rigged, too.  


His smile now becoming a frown, Quackerjack began to look ominous. "What is WITH you guys? You're kids! Kids love toys!"  


"Are you out of your _mind_?" Michael snapped at last. He stood up, rising to his full height - which just now was only about two and a half feet. His voice hit a pitch that he hadn't been able to reach since he was seven, which he supposed he now technically was. "We're not children! We're adults and you... DID something to us! You _know_ that!"  


The clown's expression turned a little pouty, and he turned aside for a moment. "Yeah, but I was hoping you didn't."  


"RRGH!" Michael sat back down, enraged. There had to be a way to deal with this guy, but he'd tried every negotiation tactic in the book and nothing seemed to work, so now he was just down to angry outbursts. He'd been cooped up for too long.  


"Listen," announced Quackerjack, looming over the room of adults-turned-children, "like it or not you guys are all kids now. And kids play with toys. So. PLAY."  


There was a pause, and then all the young adults rushed forward to claim a toy. Michael was the last, and he glared at Quackerjack as he gripped the fashion doll and slowly drew it out of the clown's grip.  


" _Won_ derful!" Quackerjack said gleefully. "Now, I'll just leave you all to have _fun_."  


He left, and once he'd disappeared from view they all heard the lock turn in the door, trapping them again in their cell.  


Michael sighed and looked at the doll in his hands. It looked like a normal girl's toy - shapely, vapid, and perfectly content to wear tight-fitting all day. He considered it for a few moments, turning it over and over, then his finger brushed a little button on its back and he had to hurriedly toss it aside as it breathed fire at him.  


He sighed and wondered how much longer it would be until someone came and got them.  


  


* * *

  


There are many ways in which a hero can protect his city.  


  
The most obvious way, of course, is to defeat the denizens of darkness as they come forward, deducing their diabolical intentions and nullifying the nefarious nogoodniks before they can bring their plans to fruition. After a lifetime of experience, Darkwing Duck had mastered this ability and could do it in his sleep. In fact, he had, but that was another story.  


A lesser-known protection, however, is the dedication to constant vigilance. Constant vigilance is what allows the very best heroes to not only thwart the very worst plans of the very worst villains as they unfold, but to act preemptively, eliminating threats before they have a chance to strike. Constant vigilance is the way in which the very best vigilantes monitor potential subjects and catch them _before_ they are able to perpetrate any wrongdoing.  


Constant vigilance, and a healthy dose of intuition, are among the weapons at the disposal of the peak heroes of the world - the creme de la creme, if you will.  


Darkwing Duck's intuition had led him to watch a certain newcomer into his life very closely. He was, in fact, ready to place her on the "constant vigilance" list. At first glance, Beth Webfoot was harmless: shy, bespectacled, and interested only in hardware and the occasional babysitting gig. But after a series of odd events, all of which had seemed to involve her in one way or another, Darkwing's intuition had begun to tell him that this woman needed watching.  


She seemed to attract supervillains like a magnet, for one thing. There was that, which of itself was suspicious, but add to it the fact that she was worming her way into his family life... coincidence? How big of a coincidence would it have to be for an honestly harmless woman to meet him, get hired to babysit his daughter, and via totally-unrelated means bump into not one but _two_ of his most dangerous arch-enemies?  


That would be one big coincidence, Darkwing believed. Too big.  


Plus there was something about her that just _bugged_ him.  


A generic background search hadn't turned up any information, and as a result Gosalyn and Launchpad were telling him he was being irrational. So, all that meant was that Beth Webfoot was very, very crafty - and probably using an alias. He'd have to probe deeper.  


Some might say that it was faulty logic for Darkwing Duck to allow a suspected supervillain to babysit his daughter several nights a week, but Darkwing believed in the wise old adage, "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer." He was on guard, and so he didn't believe Gosalyn was in any genuine danger. From what he could see, Beth was sounding him out as much as he was sounding her out. He was confident that he'd be able to track her movements well enough to know before she was about to strike.  


Meanwhile, he had the advantage: surprise, and foreknowledge. She clearly had no idea that he knew, and while he was being cagey, he could also play her like a fiddle and find out whatever he needed to know.  


It was a Tuesday night when he decided to gather information. If the preliminary background check had failed, he would just have to get as much on her as he could, and look at it from every angle. With that in mind, in his Drake Mallard guise, he sat himself down next to her on the couch and began.  


"So, Ms. Webfoot," he said, his tone confident and straightforward, "would I be correct in assuming that 'Beth' is short for 'Elizabeth'?"  


She straightened up slightly and smiled at him. "Um, yes! You're exactly correct," she said. "A-although I guess, when you think about it, there aren't really many other names that Beth is short for, are there? But still you never know so I understand why you asked."  


At this point, Drake was starting to suspect that the stream of ongoing mindless chatter from her was an intentional front. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but gave no other sign of suspicion. "Riiiiight. So, moving on, do you happen to have a middle name?"  


Beth looked at him in surprise for a second, and he was just wondering if he'd pushed too far too fast and given himself away, when she blushed slightly. "W-well, it's Marilynn, actually."  


"Marilyn? Like Marilyn Monroe, huh?"  


"Yes, exactly! Only it's spelled with two 'n's at the end so it's not exactly the same - b-but you're not interested in how I spell a name I never even use," she finished, chuckling nervously.  


"On the contrary," he said, making a mental note of this information, "I am interested. _Very_ interested."  


Beth leaned forward, again looking surprised and pleased. "R-really?"  


"Oh yes," Drake answered. He leaned forward as well, and propped himself up on one elbow against the couch. "Do tell me more about yourself, Ms. Webfoot... Favourite colour, favourite animal... where you grew up... any prior police records..."  


She laughed, presumably at the last one, and went on to tell him everything. In great, extensive detail. Over the course of fifteen minutes he learned a whole lot about very little, mainly - despite his efforts at steering the conversation - about her background in retail. She probably _was_ onto him.  


After answering two or three questions and then devolving into a rambling monologue that seemed to be mostly about her boss, Beth failed to make any point that Drake could identify. He was stuck nodding, uttering the occasional "Uh-huh" and "Absolutely", and ultimately feeling his eyes glazing over. Was it just possible that she didn't actually notice the effect she was having? After all, the Muddlefoots were the much the same... But this would be such an effective form of torture that it just raised Drake's suspicions even more.  


"...And Henny said that it wasn't worth chasing him down over 21 cents, and I guess she's probably right, but it was just going to stay with me all day if I hadn't given him the correct change and really, you know, what if he'd come back and been upset that I'd given him the wrong amount? I know, I know, it's less than a quarter but you never do know, but then Henny said that I'd wasted company time going after him once he'd left the store, and I just thought, it's like I can't win either way, you know? Should I give him his money, should I let him leave, do you know that song 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?' It's by the Clash, and I don't normally like that kind of music but I heard it once on the radio and I thought 'Oh my gosh, that's ME' because it basically goes -"  


"What?" Drake said suddenly, as if in response to something. Beth fell silent instantly. He sat up straight, looking like he was listening to something, then called "Be right there!" and turned back to Beth. "Sorry, I think I'm needed in the kitchen. Y'know, you should probably go upstairs and check on Gos and her homework, really enjoyed the chat and I hope we can do this again next year!"  


"Oh - yes, me too, we could... um...thanks!" She was just trailing off as he left the room, escaping through the door into the safe haven of his kitchen.  


The only person there was Launchpad, who had definitely not called him, but Drake was reasonably sure that - despite his partiality to Beth - he could count on some backup from his sidekick in this case.  


"Hey DW - hot dogs are just about done," Launchpad announced, being in charge of dinner for the evening. "You want anything on it?"  


"Make me one with everything, LP," said Drake, sinking wearily into the chair at the kitchen table, "I earned it."  


"Really? Whatja do?" Launchpad asked as he retrieved about five different bottles and jars from the fridge, then piled them onto the counter next to the bag of hot dog rolls.  


Drake let his head rest in his hand, as though he were trying to massage his brain back to life. "Just had a full interview with you-know-who out there, to try to get some more information to go on."  


Launchpad rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "DW, for the last time, she's NOT a bad guy!" He checked the hot dogs, turned down the flame underneath the burner, and then addressed Drake again. "You're wastin' a lot of energy on nothin'!"  


"I beg to differ," Drake said flatly. "If _she's_ harmless, then Dr. Slug should be celebrated as a philanthropist. I just spent twenty minutes listening to her go on, and I'm telling you LP, there is _evil_ underneath that drab exterior. There has to be, because nobody can actually be that _boring_."  


Launchpad frowned, his expression indicating a bit more displeasure than before. "That's not -" The next word, Drake was sure, would have been either "nice" or "fair"; Launchpad was a staunch defender of Beth, and he seemed to share Gizmoduck's idealistic beliefs that "fair" applied outside to life outside of the playground. But the sentence was never finished, because as he was speaking the words, Launchpad's eyes skipped from Drake to something behind him, and he bit off his comment.  


Drake swallowed, and reluctantly turned in his seat; Beth was standing in the doorway, her hand clutching the frame in a manner that suggested she was keeping herself upright this way, but although there was a slight flush to her cheeks, her face was almost impassive. There was absolutely no doubt that she'd heard his last comment; the only thing that wasn’t certain was just how much she had heard before that.  


An awkward moment fell among the three of them, and Drake shifted guiltily in his seat. As Beth turned her attention toward the ground, Drake returned his to the kitchen table. The tension between them was almost palpable. He had to say something - he knew that - but nothing that came into his head seemed right. In books and TV shows, a person overhearing others talking about them just left - usually without anyone even knowing they'd been there. Naturally, Beth was just _standing_ there, like she was waiting for something.  


Waiting - or maybe completely aware of how awkward her presence was making things. Maybe this was _intentional_. He reminded himself that Beth was no ordinary babysitter (or hardware clerk or whatever she called herself) - and, depending on how much she'd overheard, it was possibly that she knew that _he_ knew.  


With his mind racing this way, Drake almost didn't notice when Launchpad broke the silence that had built up around them. With a forceful cheerfulness, Launchpad said loudly, "Oh, hi Beth! Uh, so, how's it goin'?"  


It was an incredibly lame attempt to pretend nothing had happened, but at the same time, Drake realized that might be the best way to go. At best she might believe it, and at worst, she might not know that they knew that she knew they knew. Wait - Drake frowned to himself. Was that right...?  


Beth, meanwhile, answered in a weak voice. "Oh... um... g-good. I-I guess."  


"Yeah? Great! Me too. So, uh... lookin' forward to babysittin' tonight?"  


"Um..." Beth's voice shook, and grew quieter. "I-I think m-maybe I should... go home..."  


Drake fought down another surge of guilt by reminding himself that he was being manipulated by a diabolical genius. If he turned to face her, he might lose his resolve; much better for him to avoid eye contact.  


Launchpad reacted strongly, which did not surprise Drake. "No, don't go! Look, Beth, you didn't hear what you thought you heard. Drake didn't mean - well..." He looked beseechingly to Drake, who shook his head slightly in an effort to convey his suspicions. Launchpad's eyebrows went up in surprise for a moment, and then knitted together slightly.  


From the doorway, Beth said, "I-I'm sorry..."  


Distracted from Drake, Launchpad looked at her swiftly. " _You_ don't have to apologize!" he said, an edge of something unspoken creeping into his voice. "C'mon Drake," he said imploringly.  


It figured: Launchpad _would_ end up buying the 'damsel in distress' act and forget to pay attention to the guy with the crimefighter's instincts. Drake grit his teeth together and tried to make eye contact so that he could get it through to Launchpad that they were being played, but it was no good; his sidekick was too distracted, and just kept looking back and forth between them. Drake was well aware that he'd have to say _something_ , in any case, but without advance communication, Launchpad probably wasn't going to like it. Still, it had to be done.  


Stiff-shouldered, Drake turned partially towards Beth and said, "I'm sorry you had to hear that."  


"Um, okay," Beth said in a near-whisper. Drake couldn't see her well from his angle, but she appeared to be talking to the doorframe. She started to slip out of his line of vision. "Um, I'll just... um..."  


There was a loud *bang* on the table in front of him, and Drake jumped in surprise and looked up to see Launchpad staring at him. No - _glaring_. Drake was taken too much aback to do any more than blink for a moment, during which time Launchpad said, "What kinda apology was _that_?"  


"It was-" began Drake, who wasn't about to take this kind of situation from his own sidekick; but Beth managed to cut through his voice despite the softness of her tone.  


"No, no, it's okay - he doesn't have to apologize at all!" She looked from Drake to Launchpad, both of whose attention was firmly on her, and she took a timid step back. "I'm... I'm fine," she said tremulously. "He didn't do anything... wrong."  


Ignoring Drake for a moment, Launchpad stepped toward her and took her by the hand, drawing her into the room. "Wait here a sec," he said in an undertone, and then he surprised Drake again by putting a hand to her cheek, just for a moment, as she cast her eyes downwards again. "I’ll be right back - don't go anywhere, okay?" She nodded, still looking at the floor.  


Then Launchpad turned back to Drake, and said, "I gotta talk to you." There was unmistakably no room for argument in his tone, and although Drake didn't intend to let Launchpad start ordering him around, he did feel it was utterly imperative to avoid any sign of dissension in front of Beth.  


Coolly, he replied, "Fine. Ms. Webfoot," he said politely as he got to his feet, "please excuse us for a moment." Launchpad had already started for the living room, so Drake stepped out after him. Once they'd cleared the door, Drake began, "Okay, listen LP-"  


"What's your _problem_ with her?!" Launchpad asked, spinning to face Drake and pointing a finger decisively in his direction.  


Drake was taken aback, and for a moment all he could do was stare at his sidekick, blinking and frowning as his temper flared in the face of this unfair accusation. Launchpad seemed to be waiting for an actual answer, so a few moments passed before Drake recovered enough to answer. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"  


"You know what it means, DW. You haven't given her a chance even once since you've met her. An' now you've really hurt her feelings, and for what? What'd she _do_?"  


"Don't fall for that sweet and innocent routine, Launchpad - that woman is-"  


"No she's _NOT_!" Again, Drake stopped cold, because talks with Launchpad just were not supposed to go this way. Launchpad didn't cut him off, he didn't yell, and he didn't question Darkwing Duck's instincts. All these things together were such unexplored territory with the pilot that Drake found himself getting equally angry and unnerved. Launchpad lowered his voice and continued, but the anger remained audible. "You don't have any proof about that, you just decided it an' you're stickin' with it 'cause it's easier than admittin' that you're bein' a jerk!"  


"YOU don't have any proof that she's NOT a supervillain!" Drake shot back, maintaining the same high-intensity, low-volume tone as Launchpad, as he bristled over the term 'jerk'. "All _you_ have is a 'gut feeling', so don't give me this baloney about believing what I want to believe! I'M the one with the hero's instincts here, _sidekick_!"  


"Yeah, but if you knew her..."  


"Oh, give me a break. Just because you see someone for ten minutes at a time every couple of weeks doesn't make you bosom companions. Why do you even care?"  


Frowning, Launchpad pointed again, this time at the kitchen door. "Because maybe you didn't notice, or maybe you just don't care, but she _likes_ you. She's a good person, but she's shy, an' she's tryin' every day to get you to notice her just a little bit but all you ever do is complain about her an' accuse her of stuff."  


"And that's another thing!" Drake said angrily, refusing to quail under this list of inaccuracies, " _she_ barely knows _me_. Why should she care enough to try to get me to notice her? Unless she has ulterior motives, that's why!"  


"Or maybe she's just _nice_!" Launchpad shouted, and then stepped back, shutting his mouth again. He crossed his arms. "Look DW - just look at it this way. If you don't believe she's innocent, then pretend for a sec that ya do. Pretend she's just an ordinary lady, who never dealt with supervillains or any'a that stuff before. Now think about how much she's been through the past coupla weeks. She's been robbed, stalked, kidnapped, an' she's babysat for Gosalyn five times now. And she keeps comin' back."  


Drake had to pause and concede that this was, indeed, a lot for your average non-superheroic citizen. "But nobody's _making_ her."  


"Exactly," said Launchpad emphatically.  


"Sooooo, doesn't that make you _suspicious_?" Drake let the statement hang in the air for a moment, certain that the implications would finally sink in.  


Instead Launchpad shook his head. "No. It makes me think she's lonely."  


Seeing he wasn't going to win Launchpad over with any grandscale arguments (and unable to think of any more at this point anyway), he averted his eyes and grumbled, "Look, she wasn't even supposed to hear that anyway."  


"Well, she did," Launchpad said. "An' you're just makin' excuses now 'cause you feel bad."  


He was _not_. Frowning, Drake said, "I am _not_. She needs to learn not to come bursting into someone else's kitchen. Maybe she can use this as an object lesson."  


"Drake..."  


Steeling himself, Drake tried for a few moments to stare Launchpad down - which should have worked, but Launchpad was inordinately stubborn just then and Drake himself was beginning to harbour doubts. He was sure he shouldn't have doubts, but he did, and they seemed to be just enough to keep him from being able to get through to Launchpad. He tried, though.  


Launchpad stared back, not moving, and that was so unnerving that Drake finally snapped. "OKAY!" he said, in a half-shout. "Okay, you win, I’ll _talk_ to her."  


With a smile, Launchpad relaxed. "Aw, good. That'll make her feel a lot better."  


"Ooooh, just what I want to do," Drake snarled in a sing-song. Just to make it clear that he was doing Launchpad a favour, and not caving in, he added, "But I'm not letting my guard down for a second, you understand?" Launchpad rolled his eyes, and Drake turned to go back into the kitchen, still fuming. He hesitated for just a moment with his hand on the door.  


This could actually work to his advantage, he recognized. The longer she was unaware of his suspicions, the longer he could keep her nearby so that he could watch her. Friends close, enemies closer. Losing that now could mean losing his only lead to take her down.  


He swung the door open and stepped into the kitchen, where Beth was still standing near the sink, hugging her elbows in towards herself. Maybe it was the way she was standing, but she seemed to be all elbows and shoulders, made up entirely of angles.  


She lifted her head to look at him as he entered, and then looked down again quickly.  


  
 _To be continued! Sorry for the awkward cutoff point. :P_


	2. Act I, Chapter 2

DW was in the kitchen for quite a while - almost ten minutes - and Launchpad was alone with his thoughts. His first few thoughts were about the hot dogs, and whether DW would drain them while he was in there. Probably not, he decided. After a few moments, though, he moved on from pondering dinner to reflecting on the argument that had just taken place.  


  
He was, frankly, surprised by it. Looking back, he felt he'd been sort of overbearing, but Drake's words to Beth had stung him vicariously. DW hadn't seen the look on her face when she'd heard him; Launchpad had. He felt sad for her all over again, and even a little angry again when he thought about DW's first apology.  


  
She was really sensitive, it seemed - and, if that was the case, she'd probably picked the wrong guy to fall in love with.  


  
Still, he'd reacted all out of proportion to the situation. At least DW was apologizing now; that was one of the great things about Darkwing, he always knew when he'd gone too far, and he fixed it. Deep down, he was one of the best guys around.  


  
A few more minutes had passed before the door to the kitchen opened slowly, almost carefully, and then Drake stepped out. Launchpad watched him, and when he didn't say anything, Launchpad prompted him a little. "So..?"  


  
Drake turned a look on him that Launchpad couldn't exactly identify. It was sort of accusatory and annoyed, but also underneath it seemed like it was kind of fumbling and remorseful. It was definitely a glare, though, and Launchpad felt more sheepish every second it was turned on him. After a moment, Drake said, "So I apologized."  


  
"Oh." Launchpad realized he probably ought to say he was sorry for the things he'd said, so that they could put this whole thing behind them. It shouldn't be too hard; he _was_ sorry. First, though, he had to ask the remaining questions. "Okay. And, uh, what'd she say? I mean... was she glad?"  


  
"She was fine," said Drake uncomfortably, and he looked at the door as if he could knock it over just with the intention of his gaze. "Well, a little overwhelmed, but mostly fine."  


  
"So, is she-"  


  
"Y'know LP, surprisingly enough, I don't really want to talk about this anymore," Drake snapped. "I apologized. It's done. We're square."  


  
From that, Launchpad was pretty sure that DW wasn't really over his suspicion of Beth. For a moment or two he felt angry again, but it quelled quickly; DW could warm up to Beth more once he got to know her and realized how wrong he was about her. The important thing now was that he'd apologized. Launchpad wanted to ask if Beth would be staying as usual that evening, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he said, "Well... thanks. I'm sure she appreciates it." After a rather chilly silence from Drake, he added, "I do too. An' I'm sorry for all that. Guess I kinda lost my head."  


  
"Mm." Drake just grunted, but his posture relaxed a little bit, and Launchpad took that to mean that the apology was accepted. He grinned a little.  


  
"Mind if I go in an' talk to her for a sec before we leave?" After all, he'd promised he was coming back... Besides, he wanted to make sure that Drake hadn't said anything else that he shouldn't. And then there were the hot dogs, for that matter.  


  
"Sure, fine, take your time. Not like we have anything to DO tonight, after all," Drake said peevishly, but he didn't seem honestly to be all that bothered, so Launchpad took the permission for what it was and went to make sure Beth was okay.  


  
When he made his way carefully into the kitchen, Beth was standing by the sink and holding a hot dog in a bun. It had a single bite out of it. She was staring at the rest like she wasn't sure what to do with it. She sniffled quickly and wiped at her face as he entered; she looked nervous, so he kept a little distance and waited for her to speak first.  


  
She did, after a moment; she blew out a breath and laughed nervously. "Um, Drake said I c-could help m-myself for dinner..."  


  
"Oh yeah, 'course ya can! They're for you an' Gos. Uh, don't mind if I help myself though..."  


  
"Sure!" she said, gesturing at the stove where the hot dogs were still sitting in their pot. A bag of rolls was out on the counter next to them. She took a bite of her own, chewed a little, then swallowed. After she'd cleared her throat, she said awkwardly, "Um. So."  


  
"Yeah. Well, uh..." He was in the midst of putting condiments onto his dinner, and he stopped. Now he felt oddly as if _he_ owed her an apology. "Uh, look, sorry 'bout all that. I just thought... I mean, you looked upset, an'-"  


  
She shook her head. "To be honest, I think I was overreacting, and you know. I mean - not that I'm not grateful, because I really am, it's just I think I made things kind of weird for you and Drake and I'd just hate myself if I did something to cause a conflict or anything. Or - well, what I mean is, I'm sorry if you were worried about me, but Drake explained about what he was really talking about, and... I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, that was just-"  


  
"Okay, slow down." He smiled gently. "I don't think much is gonna come of this with me an' Drake, so don't worry about that. But I don't blame ya for bein' upset. Drake can be kinda harsh, but he doesn't mean it." Usually, anyway.  


  
"Oh I know!" she said quickly. Launchpad felt he shouldn't be surprised by the speed of her response. "No, I know, Drake's the kind of person who doesn't sugarcoat things, and that's fine. It's nice to know where you stand with people sometimes, right?"  


  
There was something missing, both in that logic and in that description of DW, but Launchpad held his tongue.  


  
"But," Beth continued, "I just took it too hard. You know how it can be. There are times when... I mean, probably any little thing could have..." She trailed off, then took another bite of her hot dog. With her mouth full, she said quietly, "Am I... really really obvious?"  


  
"Huh?"  


  
She swallowed. "What I mean is... Do I - wear my heart on my sleeve?" She stared down at the half of the hot dog that remained, as if it was a completely foreign object. Her cheeks were turning a bright pink as she elaborated, "About... about Drake." She looked up at Launchpad and eyed him carefully.  


  
"Oh..." This was the first time she had directly acknowledged that she was interested in Drake, and Launchpad wasn't sure if it would be better to admit that he'd guessed, or play it dumb. She was talking about it like she could tell he knew, so he sort of shrugged half-heartedly. "Uh... I dunno?"  


  
She paused, frowning, then looked self-conscious. "Well, I... I might as well tell _someone_ ," she said, blushing. "Ever since I met Drake, I... Gosh, I don't really know how to... to say this." She looked anxiously at the door to the kitchen, as if trying to see through it, and blurted out, "I'm in love." Looking back to Launchpad, she added, "With Drake," as if it needed further clarification.  


  
Launchpad really had no idea what to say in response to that. It was very direct, that was for certain, and not really any of his business - not that he minded being a confidant, or anything, but... She seemed to want some kind of answer or response, and he didn't have a clue what to say. "Oh yeah?" She was blushing a deeper shade of pink than he'd ever seen her; despite the awkward situation, he found her adorable and it was hard to keep from smiling. "I mean, y'know, I don't mind - I just dunno what to-"  


  
"I must seem very desperate." She spoke suddenly, and almost dejectedly. " I've only known him for..." She stopped, counted on her fingers, and concluded, "eight days. Eight days and he's the most important person in my life. That's the kind of clinginess of a desperate person, isn't it?" She looked wistfully at her hands.  


  
"Aw, I don't think so. There wouldn't be alla those movies an' songs an' stuff about love at first sight if it didn't really happen, right?"  


  
She looked encouraged, and smiled at him. "I guess not. I'm just glad to hear someone else say that, you know, someone who isn't me." When he laughed, she did too, but still fidgeted nervously. "I just... I've been alone for so long, and... and I want to... I mean, I have _plans_. I want a family, you know? I want to settle down and raise kids and so far I've never even-" She stopped abruptly and cleared her throat.  


  
It wasn't hard to picture Beth with kids. Launchpad imagined her having two or three of them, at the minimum, running around the kitchen while she cooked dinner or playing at a playground while she looked on. "Hey, you'll be a great mom," he said, since it seemed obvious to him.  


  
Looking at the table, she gave a shrug that was partly a shake of the head and said wistfully, "Not if I never have kids."  


  
"Why wouldn't you?" As soon as he'd asked it, he regretted it: maybe there was something wrong, some painful secret reason she _couldn't_ have kids. Heck, maybe she'd found out she only had a month to live. He tried to cover. "Uh... That is, not that kids are all there are to life, though."  


  
"I just mean," she said, showing no signs of taking offense at his question, "that I can't have kids if I can't even... find someone to _have_ them with."  


  
"Ohhhh. Well, I'm sure the right guy'll come along."  


  
Her head lowered, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I haven't even found the semi-decent guy. At this point I'd almost settle for the out-and-out _wrong_ guy."  


  
"Huh?"  


  
"There haven't, um, exactly been _any_ guys. At all. Ever."  


  
" _Oh_." They both paused and for the first time Launchpad wondered if the reason she seemed to put so much energy into trying to create relationships, even though just speaking to people could be hard for her, was because of a sense that her time was running out.  


  
"I-I shouldn't have said that," she said awkwardly. "I'm sorry. That was totally - nobody wants to - just forget all this, okay?"  


  
Now that she was apologizing, he realized that it didn't actually bother him. In fact he felt a little special to be trusted this way. "Nah, don't worry about it! You can tell me anything," he said reassuringly. She smiled a little. On an impulse, he added, "Tell ya what else. I'll talk to Drake for ya, okay? Put in a good word an' see what I can do."  


  
Her face lit up like a birthday cake. "REALLY? Oh, Launchpad, you don't have to do that for me!"  


  
But he did. The smile on her face was unlike any he'd ever seen from her, and he had a feeling that he was one of the only people in the world to have seen it. The feeling of being special doubled. "Well, it's worth it to see ya smile like that," he said, patting her on the shoulder.  


  
She blushed again, but the smile never faltered. "That's amazing," she said, flustered, "I mean... Thank you so much!"  


  
"No problemo!" He glanced at the kitchen clock and it was nearly five minutes that they'd been talking; Drake was sure to be getting fed up. He grabbed another hot dog, didn't bother with a bun or ketchup this time, and tried to excuse himself quickly. "Look, I gotta go - the bowling alley's got a real strict time for league nights now."  


  
"Okay." She was still grinning ear-to-ear. "Well, let me know what he says. But um, no hurry or anything. Whenever you have time."  


  
"Sure!" She thanked him again - profusely - and he held the door open for her as they both headed back to the living room. It wasn't until that moment, as she passed in front of him and he watched her, feeling really good about himself, as if he had done something really great, that he remembered Morgana.  


  


* * *

  


  
When Launchpad headed back into the kitchen to chat with Beth, Drake wasn't particularly surprised. When he hung out there for about five times longer than was really needed, Drake wasn't pleased, but he could have let that go. But when his sidekick came back out of the kitchen _with_ Beth, holding the door for her like her personal footservant, he got really annoyed.  


  
He found himself tapping his foot, deeply impatient, as he said, "We _really_ need to get going."  


  
Launchpad looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. "Oh, uh - huh?"  


  
"You know, to the _bowling_ alley?" he said sharply.  


  
Beth was the one who nodded. "Of course, absolutely, Drake. You should go. Thanks so much for sticking around so long." She smiled and just _stood_ there, as if daring him to make a move with her in the room.  


  
Oh, that was it. She knew exactly what she was doing.  


  
There was a long, extended pause. Drake sent a look to Launchpad, who looked back at him with a flummoxed expression. From his spot just behind Beth, he shrugged helplessly. Finally Drake said, "...Right... Y'know, maybe Gosalyn needs some help with her homework-"  


  
" _Oh_!" Beth said this so suddenly that Launchpad jumped. "I forgot! The whole reason I came into the kitchen in the first place was - oh, well, see, you were right and I really shouldn't have butted into your conversation and all, I know we went over this, but-"  


  
Drake ground his teeth together in mental agony. " _Yes, yes Beth_ , the _point_?" he managed.  


  
"Oh. Right. Um, just before I came in, Gosalyn asked me if it was okay if she had a friend over tonight and I said that it was okay with _me_ , but really it was up to _you_ since it's your house and we haven't been over the company policy. Heh... company policy, that's funny, that's not exactly what I meant-"  


  
Drake made a slight growling sound, and Beth paused, a puzzled expression on her face, as if she wasn't sure she'd actually heard it.  


  
"Sorry, I - well, anyway, Gosalyn wanted to know if she could have her friend - Honker, I think? - come by tonight. Is that okay?"  


  
"Fine, just _fine_!" Drake almost snapped. "That's a great idea. Keep everyone occupied. REALLY need to go now!"  


  
"Oh good!" Beth said with a smile. She turned to Launchpad. "Occupied?"  


  
"He meant, uh, happy."  


  
Beth nodded in understanding. "So is Honker... well, is he very much like...I mean, in terms of _energy_ -"  


  
"Is he like Gos?" Launchpad chuckled. "Nah. He's real quiet. You'll like him, I bet."  


  
"I - I like Gosalyn too!" Beth said quickly, sending a significant look in Drake's direction. Drake decided that it was important that he no longer look at her, and he managed to find a point on the sofa to focus on as he addressed her.  


  
"Saaaay, Beth, why don't you go ahead and let Gos know right NOW that she can have friends over? And let her know I'm on my way out while you're at it. Don't want to keep her waiting!"  


  
"Sure!" Beth said, sounding tremendously chipper, and she obediently headed for the stairs.  


  
The moment she was out of sight, Drake grabbed Launchpad by the scarf and half-tugged, half-pushed him into one of the chairs. "We are getting out of here. NOW." Yet another night where, if he had to spend five more minutes in the same house as Beth Webfoot, he was either going to have to arrest her or else just say goodbye to his sanity.  


  
Launchpad seemed to understand the urgency behind his request, and without any further stalling or general irritations, they were off.  


  


* * *

  


  
Gosalyn was nowhere to be found upstairs, and Beth wasn't sure where else to look. The idea of starting out her evening by losing her charge left her feeling slightly panicked, and so she hurried back towards the living room in the hopes of catching Drake before he left so that he could tell her not to worry and instruct her on exactly where Gosalyn went when she wasn't in the house.  


  
She was halfway down the stairs, though, when she knew something else was not right.  


  
The twin easy chairs were spinning.  


  
She had just enough time to be sure that she wasn't imagining it or having some kind of double-image effect before they stopped, and the strangely familiar 'whoosh' noise that had accompanied them had fallen silent. Once they stopped, she knew for certain that she was alone in the house; there was a certain stillness to the place that made it abundantly clear.  


  
Chairs did not spin. There were no chairs in her life that had ever spun, well, except around and around like if they were office or desk chairs, her university and even her parents had had some of those kinds of chairs but they never, ever spun vertically. No. Horizontal spinning was the way to go.  


  
Beth shook her head to try to snap out of it. She felt a little like her head was spinning as well, the same disorienting, vertical spin as the chairs. She stepped down off of the stairs, walked right up to the armchairs, and touched them. They felt sturdy enough. Maybe she'd imagined...?  


  
She stopped that line of thought when she recalled the noise they'd made, the oddly familiar one; she remembered now, she'd heard that the first night that she'd babysat for Gosalyn. They'd been up in Gosalyn's room and from out in the hallway she'd heard that strange combined whoosh/howl, and when she'd asked what it was, Gosalyn had said she hadn't heard it.  


  
After leaning more heavily on first one, then the other chair, Beth gave the one on the left a single, firm push. It didn't give way at all, so she sat down on it and wondered what she was trying to do. What would happen if she did get them spinning again? What did it _mean_? Why would someone have their chairs wired to do this?  


  
She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head. It didn't make sense. None of this did. As she sat there, she recalled again the first night she'd come by - she'd been sitting in this same spot and Drake had told her to stand up. Something about the upholstering, which to her tastes had felt fine and still felt totally normal now...  


  
The only way this even began to make any sense was if she considered that she was not supposed to _know_ about the spinning. Or, maybe not her specifically... maybe everyone. Gosalyn? She wasn't sure. Gosalyn might have been lying, or she really might not have noticed the spinning noise. But Drake and Launchpad... They knew. She realized for the first time that she'd been sent up to Gosalyn's room every evening when they left - she'd never seen them leave the house. She hadn't seen them leave tonight, either.  


  
Something inside her, some dammed-up curiosity and need, broke open and she _had_ to know what she was well-aware was none of her business. Where did they really go, what was going on, and first and foremost _how_ did she get the chairs to spin?! She was bouncing on her knees on the one she'd been sitting on when she turned her head to check the front door and her gaze passed over the statuette of Basil, the Great Mouse Detective.  


  
She froze. Drake's voice rang in her ears, _shouting_ at her not to touch it; as she'd been sitting in the chair...  


  
Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached out and gave its head a firm push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: sorry folks but the apology scene didn't really add anything to the fic and it slowed down the momentum, so I took it out after writing it. However, I did *keep* it - it's over at my Webfoot blog (or Weblog, if you will, ha ha). Check my profile for the link if you are interested. :) As for the plot, I promise it will come back soon... but it'll probably be in Act II. Stuff I have to get out of the way up front first. You know how it is. :P Hope this chapter meets with approval, and I'll try to have the next one up within a month or so!


	3. Act I, Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A/N: I won't say much, only two things: starting in act II I promise we'll have PLOT! And, just to put readers at ease, this chapter doesn't go where the beginning of it might make you think it's going to go. I'm not going to have a repeat of anything that happened in the first two chapters._

Darkwing felt, as he changed rapidly into his costume, as if he'd been in costume as Drake Mallard for several hours and he was only now changing back. The worst thing about having that woman come over was how he had to keep all traces of his secret identity completely hidden, even in his own house. Wasn't that what private homes were _for_?  


  
Between his simmering resentment over having to be extra-careful with her around, and his ongoing uncertainty as to how to proceed with keeping an eye on her, he was only half-present for several minutes. It was going to be vital that he do even more to observe Beth from here on out - she might make a move. Maybe, he was thinking as he fastened the mask around his face, he should install cameras in the living room. Or all the rooms. That could be a good weekend project... Although it was only Tuesday...  


  
"Say, DW," Launchpad began in a rather offputtingly casual tone.   


  
It was so unexpected that it almost made Darkwing jump. Launchpad had been oddly silent and monosyllabic since returning from his chat in the kitchen with Beth, and Darkwing had assumed that he was feeling bad for his outburst earlier. Since Darkwing also believed that Launchpad certainly _should_ feel bad, he hadn't done anything to interrupt what was apparently a brooding session.  


  
Now, however, Launchpad was breaking the silence himself. The tone of voice was such that Darkwing suspected what the topic might be. He narrowed his eyes before answering. "This had _better_ not be heading in the direction I think it is..."  


  
"What direction is that?" Launchpad asked carefully.  


  
"That would be the direction in which we talk about Beth, and how she's so innocent and harmless and a special flower."  


  
Launchpad's eyebrows went up. "Naaaah, I wasn't even thinking about Beth!"  


  
"Okay." Darkwing breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the Tower's kitchen area. Launchpad followed at his heels.  


  
"Although, now that you mention her-"  


  
With a groan, Darkwing came to a stop and let his head drop in defeat.  


  
"Well, I was just thinkin' - I mean, I guess I was wondering, just what _do_ you think of her?"  


  
"I think that should be pretty obvious," Darkwing said in a growl. He turned a long, even look onto his sidekick and after a moment Launchpad cleared his throat uncomfortably.  


  
"Okay, well, look. This is all 'cause of when you found her at Bushroot's, right?"  


  
"That's part of it, yes," Darkwing conceded.  


  
In a reasonable tone, Launchpad put forth, "Okay, well, what if you didn't know about that? Or, uh, if it hadn't happened? I mean, she probably has a real good reason that she was there that you just don't-" He stopped, seeing the glare that he was getting from his friend, and reordered his words. "Okay, well, let's just forget about all that supervillain stuff and think about Beth herself. As a _person_. What do you think about her then?"  


  
Launchpad was not making this easy for him. After the argument that was still fresh in his head, Darkwing couldn't figure out why Launchpad would want to press this point, unless it was some kind of test. Going on that assumption, Darkwing did his best to control his temper, but he was quickly losing it. "I try very, very hard NOT to."  


  
The pilot gave it one last shot. "Sure, okay, but - I mean, she is pretty, right?"  


  
"Launchpad, what is this _about_?! If you're trying to get my blessing for you to ask for her hand in marriage, it's a lost cause!"  


  
"Huh? ME? No, I was just... uh..."  


  
"Look, LP, if it's all the same to you, for tonight I have had my fill of Beth Webfoot and she is officially the _last_ person I want to talk about or even THINK about for the next 24 hours - at _least_. And after what just went on back at home I'm surprised you're not feeling the same way. She could be drop-dead gorgeous as far as I'm concerned and I'd still rather not-" He paused. "Did you hear something just now?"  


  
"Huh?" Launchpad asked again. "Hear what?"  


  
Frowning, Darkwing said, "I'm... not sure. It's finished now." He headed back the way they'd come, towards the part of the Tower that the chairs were housed in, and poked his head around a bit. He didn't see anything. "Must've been the wind. Anyway, I'd rather talk about pretty much _anything_ else."  


  
"Okay, uh... like what?"  


  
"Like..." Darkwing paused a moment and then came up with something. "Like those disappearances that have been going on around town. Six people over two weeks! That's got to be something we can look into."  


  
Launchpad nodded. "Yeah, that's true... The police don't seem to have much of an idea where to start. It does sound like somethin' Darkwing Duck would check out."  


  
"The only problem is I can't figure out who's behind it. Who do we know with an M.O. like this? Casual disappearances aren't a lot to go on..."  


  
He moved to a window to observe the skyline, in hopes of inspiration; but none struck, and the breeze was slightly chilly, so he took a step back and looked at Launchpad.  


  
His sidekick appeared deep in thought, although of course that could mean he was just thinking about whether he wanted to pick up a pizza on the way home; but then Launchpad said, "Too bad we can't get ourselves kidnapped to find this stuff out."  


  
"Actually..." Darkwing mulled this over for a second or two, and nodded his head. "Launchpad, that's brilliant."  


  
"Uh... what?"  


  
"This is why there are two of us! What better way to find out who the person is whisking St. Canard's citizens off its streets than by getting whisked?"  


  
"Who, us?"  


  
"Well, one of us." Darkwing let that sit for a moment.  


  
Eventually, Launchpad caught on. "...Me?" he asked dubiously.  


  
"Well, it obviously can't be _me_. Who'd be dumb enough to try to kidnap the Daring Duck of Mystery?" He couldn't resist throwing his shoulders back slightly as he said that. "Anyway, you're the bait. I'll stand guard nearby and as soon as something starts to happen I'll jump out and nab whoever's responsible. Sound good?"  


  
Launchpad looked a little perplexed, but not exactly worried. "Yeah, I guess so... but, y'know, what happens if you can't nab 'em?"  


  
"Launchpad," Darkwing said as he put on his helmet and climbed onto the Ratcatcher, "I'm Darkwing Duck. I always nab 'em."  


  


* * *

  


  
It was awful. The chairs spun around like dervishes, with her clinging to one of them, and when they stopped she was both dizzy and in a place she'd never been to before. She wasn't sure how she'd come to be there because all she could really think about was that she felt extremely queasy. She stood up instinctively, trying to get her bearings, and then had to lean back on the chair again for a second as the hot dog she'd eaten a few minutes earlier threatened to jump back up her throat.  


  
As she stood, trying to recover, she heard a voice. She couldn't make out the words, but it was loud enough that she could tell it was nearby. She straightened up and looked around, terrified, for a place to hide. In desperation she ended up ducking behind the chairs, which was a terribly stupid idea because it was surely the first place that the people there would look, but the place she was in was so _open_ and there wasn't a whole lot close by that she could hide behind.  


  
She had just settled herself, and pulled her legs in so that her knees were up near her chin, when the voice got within close enough range that she could hear it. "Must've been the wind," the voice said. It was Drake. Her heart started thumping in her chest. He would find her, and he'd be outraged that she'd followed him, and he'd probably fire her on the spot. She held onto her legs in terror and prayed that he wouldn't look for her.  


  
He and Launchpad were talking about ... something. She couldn't really figure it out. After a moment Launchpad said that it (whatever "it" was) was something Darkwing Duck should check out. Well, that made sense, seeing as how they were apparently in semi-regular contact with him. It must be nice to have an easy-to-contact superhero, she thought, just for those times when... well, most people probably didn't HAVE times when they needed a superhero, but it was probably nice to have the peace of mind.  


  
She overcame her anxiety just enough to look around. The place where they were - she had no idea where it was - it was huge, and empty, and there were gigantic windows that showed nothing but the night sky. Off to the side she saw a gigantic computer. It seemed unlikely, but... maybe this was a bowling alley?  


  
She was befuddled, and the conversation between Drake and Launchpad was still incomprehensible to her. Launchpad said something about getting kidnapped, and then Drake started saying that they should do that, it was a great idea, but only for one of them.  


  
"...Me?" Launchpad asked.  


  
Drake answered, "Well, obviously it can't be _me_. Who'd be dumb enough to try kidnapping the Daring Duck of Mystery?"  


  
 _What?_ Beth thought. She wished she could see them; would this conversation make more sense if she could see them? She didn't see how it could, but maybe there was some kind of physical factor that she was missing. At the least, she'd probably be able to figure out whether this was the bowling alley or not. She really was about 90% certain that it wasn't. Well, 85% certain.  


  
"Launchpad," Drake said, his voice moving farther away, "I'm Darkwing Duck. I always nab 'em." An engine revved suddenly, just as Beth forgot where she was and why she was hiding, and shot to her feet. She was in time to see Darkwing Duck speed away on a purple motorcycle, with Launchpad in the side car. Then they were gone.  


  
For several moments all she could do was gape after them. Darkwing Duck? _Darkwing Duck_?? But... but she'd know Drake's voice ANYwhere. And he was with Launchpad. And...   


  
She had to lean on the chair again, this time to keep from falling as her legs seemed about to give way. She took a moment and looked around the rest of the area surrounding her - high walls, domed ceiling, a plane off to the side. A stylized jet plane with a large duck bill.  


  
The memory of meeting Darkwing Duck the week before came back to her. He'd seemed familiar. She hadn't been able to place it at the time, but now she knew why.  


  
Beth sat down shakily in the chair, and after staring at her hands for a few moments in shock, she reached out gingerly and depressed the head on the Basil statue that mirrored the one back at Drake's house. The chairs spun again, and a moment later she was staring at the walls in the Mallard household - and feeling queasy again, though this time she barely registered that.  


  


* * *

  


  
"Honker, I'm telling you, it's great. It's like being home alone, except that technically there is an adult there, so your parents can't complain and the police won't hold you responsible for any destruction!"  


  
It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that Honker could come over; Gosalyn didn't have any inclination to believe that Beth would say no, and why would her father object? Honker came over all the time anyway. So she'd gone to get him, just to save time and effort, and now she was leading him back to her place and anticipating hot dogs for dinner.  


  
"But, Gosalyn, well... Doesn't your father worry that maybe having a stranger in the house might, um, compromise his secret identity?" Honker finished the question in a hushed voice, looking from side to side as if worried that there might be eavesdroppers nearby.  


  
Gosalyn waved this off. "She's not really the most observant person in the world, Honk," she said reassuringly. "Besides, Dad's got it into his head that she's some kind of supervillain," she missed the way Honker's eyes went wide and alarmed as she said this, "so he's in his 'constant vigilance!!' mode around her lately. He's _super_ careful. And I swear, he can't last much longer - he's gonna crack any time now and let me stay here alone at night again."  


  
She pushed the door open and yelled, "I'm baaa-aack!" Silence met this, and Gosalyn didn't like the sound - or lack of sound - of that. She tried again. "Uh, guys? Dad?"  


  
When she got no response again, she turned to Honker for reassurance. He said fearfully, "What'd you say about your babysitter being a supervillain?"  


  
"Oh come on, that's nothing," she said dismissively. The idea that Beth could somehow make her father and Launchpad disappear during the five minutes - she checked the clock on the wall and grudgingly admitted that it was actually more like fifteen minutes - that she'd been gone was unlikely. However, there was a worse scenario going through her mind. In what she hoped was a very normal, cool, collected voice, she called, "Beeeeth? Are you here?"  


  
After peering into the empty kitchen and poking her head up the stairs, the scenario began to look a lot more likely. And she was going to be in _so much trouble_ if it was true. "Hoboy."  


  
"What?" Honker asked anxiously.  


  
"I think I'm in for it." She yelled for Beth again, not really expecting a reply, and then turned to Honker. "Uh, if you were my Dad, and one day I forgot to distract the babysitter while you left and she found out that you were Darkwing Duck... how would you react?"  


  
Honker's eyebrows went up. "You're in for it," he said in a sympathetic voice.   


  
"Well... maybe not! Maybe... maybe she's just in the bathroom or something!"  


  
As she spoke, the chairs whirred behind them and Gosalyn felt a breeze on her neck. She was standing with her back directly to them; when the whirring stopped, Honker stared fixedly behind her, his eyes as huge as she'd ever seen them.  


  
Gosalyn sighed and hung her head. "She's on the chair, isn't she." He nodded. "Rats. I'm dead."  


  
She turned around and took a deep breath, plastering a big smile on her face. Beth looked absolutely dazed and a little green around the gills; Gosalyn hoped that maybe she could take advantage of her babysitter's obvious disorientation, and she decided to play it as fast and loose as possible.  


  
"Oh, hi Beth!" she said cheerfully. "So, uh, you found the trick chairs, huh?"  


  
Beth looked up at her, and stared for a second or two as if she had no idea who anyone in the room was, including herself. Then she blinked. "Gos? I - I just saw-"  


  
"Haha, yep, those crazy chairs, they always play tricks on your mind. Right Honk?" She nodded to Honker, who obediently stepped forward. Beth looked at him, but she seemed almost to be looking through him. He raised his hand very slightly in a silent, shy greeting. "Yep, yep, that...that's happened to a lot of people."  


  
Beth swallowed, and looked at her with eyes that were still far away but perhaps, slowly, coming back. "...Oh?" she said in a strangled voice. Gosalyn nodded. "Well... maybe..."  


  
"Maybe," Gosalyn answered jovially. "Hey! I don't think you've met Honker. You remember I asked if he could come over?" Beth nodded immediately, and Gosalyn was encouraged enough by this reaction to continue. "Yeah, he lives next door, so I went to get him."  


  
Beth nodded again, and focused on Honker for the first time. "Hello, Honker," she said, sounding less distant than before.  


  
"Um, hi... ma'am," he answered politely.  


  
She held out her hand, and so he held his out as well, and she took it and shook it. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Beth Webfoot. I babysit for Gosalyn. Her father is Darkwing Duck."  


  
There was a minor commotion after that, as Honker got shunted off to the side while Gosalyn yelled and shushed at Beth, and Beth covered her mouth and looked panic-stricken, then wailed about blurting out secret things as Gosalyn tried to calm her down. Confusion reigned for about five minutes before Gosalyn got everything under control. Then, at Gosalyn's request, they did a brief review just to make sure that Beth was fully on the same page.  


  
"So... So Honker knows."  


  
"Right," said Gosalyn. Behind her, Honker nodded.  


  
"But his parents don't."  


  
"No." Honker shook his head. "And _definitely_ don't tell his brother," Gosalyn added, and Honker's head-shaking became more emphatic.  


  
"Okay. And... and nobody else knows?"  


  
"Not really... I mean, pretty much just our family, and Honker. And... you," Gosalyn said, and cringed a little.  


  
"Wow," said Beth, in an exhalation. She seemed exhausted. "Well, I won't tell anyone."  


  
Gosalyn pounced on this. "Not even Dad." She leaned forward and put both her hands on Beth's shoulders, then looked into her eyes. "PLEASE, not Dad."  


  
"Okay," Beth said, clearly somewhat intimidated. Gosalyn breathed a sigh of relief and sat on the couch.  


  
"Wow! Am I glad that's over. So who wants dinner?"  


  


* * *

  


  
Launchpad was bait, and he didn't particularly like it, but that was how it was.  


  
DW had insisted that he should wear a disguise and look as mild-mannered as possible, so although their resources were limited, they'd improvised and he'd picked up a tie and a pair of glasses. As an afterthought, he'd taken off his flight cap too, and now he was just standing on the corner in downtown St. Canard, trying to look inconspicuous and defenseless. Darkwing was waiting around the corner, watching him with binoculars; they were in radio contact as well. He'd been reassured over and over that nothing could possibly happen to him, but the reassurance was so offhand that Launchpad didn't find it quite as steadying as he might have.  


  
The radio buzzed with static, and Launchpad held it to his ear. "Uh, yeah?"  


  
"Just wanted to remind you, LP, to keep this out of sight if anyone comes by."  


  
"Right-o." He saw a woman out walking her dog on the other side of the street, and hid the radio behind his back. To his discomfort, DW kept talking; since he had the binoculars, shouldn't he have known that Launchpad wasn't in earshot? The woman gave him an odd look as she passed by. He smiled and waved. Once she was out of sight, he pulled the radio back out. "Uh, sorry, what were you sayin'?"  


  
"What, the whole thing? I'm not going to repeat all of it," Darkwing said, clearly irritated. "Look, the gist of it is, if anyone comes by and tries to kidnap you, just let them. I'll be right on your tail."  


  
"Sure, okay... I'll call if anyone comes by."  


  
And then he stood, feeling unpleasantly conspicuous and a little vulnerable without any kind of hat on. He wondered who might be kidnapping grown men and women off the streets of St. Canard - DW had said the strangest part was that there were no ransoms following these disappearances - but despite his best efforts he couldn't come up with any reliable suspects.  


  
Instead his mind wandered. He wished they'd had time to stop off at Hamburger Hippo, because now he was getting hungry. And as an added annoyance, the glasses he had on were driving him nuts; every time he went to rub his eye or scratch his face, he smacked them with his hand - so of course he kept getting itches. He wondered if the same thing happened to Beth, if her glasses got in the way all the time, and if so how she could put up with it.  


  
Now that he thought about Beth, how was he going to handle this whole "talking about her with DW" thing? The first effort hadn't gone anywhere at all, Darkwing wouldn't even listen, let alone give a straight answer. He was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be, but maybe he could just plant a seed in DW's mind to view Beth a little more kindly... If he could get him to notice how nice her laugh was, maybe, or the exact colour of her hair, or some other little simple detail like that, maybe it'd turn his whole opinion of her around.  


  
And then what? Launchpad had to admit that, even then, DW wasn't likely to fall head over heels for Beth. Although, stranger things _had_ happened... But DW was in a pretty steady relationship, and Launchpad liked Morgana and didn't have any reason to try and split them up. He really didn't think DW would be any happier with Beth than he already was with Morgana.  


  
For that matter, he had to ask himself why he hadn't told Beth about Morgana yet. She'd find out eventually, at least if she stuck around long enough, and wouldn't it be easier on her if she found out sooner and not later? And from a friend, instead of... from DW? But he didn't want to, he really _didn't_ , and it wasn't just because it would be hard... although that was part of it... He just wanted Beth to have a fighting chance. He wanted her to get the guy she wanted; he wanted to see her happy. That smile - that amazing, fleeting smile... She should smile like that every day.  


  
Not that the situation was in any way a good one. He was getting involved in a situation that he, by all rights, should have avoided like mad. Who wanted to start meddling in their best friend's love life? And why should this become so important to _him_? Sure, Beth was lonely, and that was sad for her, but it shouldn't really become his business. And although he sort of understood where she was coming from - well, _he_ wasn't lonely. Even though he hadn't gone on a real date with a woman in a few years now, and even though he hadn't had a real, lasting relationship since... Since...  


  
Huh. Well, if you defined a relationship as a long-term, committed pairing that could lead to marriage, he wasn't sure he'd ever really had one. Of course that could be fixed pretty easily, but it was kind of sad to look back on... Not to mention, he had no idea where to start.  


  
He was surprised to realize that he _was_ lonely. The relationship between DW and Gos was something he couldn't duplicate with either of them. They were family; he wasn't. He realized, for the first time, that he _wanted_ a family. His own, not being unofficially adopted into someone else's - not that he didn't love the kids he'd taken care of over the years, but it wasn't the same, being their pal and then watching while they bonded with their family members. He'd always figured he'd have kids at some point, but he'd never put any thought into it, and now here he was getting older and it suddenly came down on him like a ton of bricks.  


  
He was standing there, feeling totally alone and sorry for himself and not noticing any of the other people around him, when the ice cream truck pulled up. By the time Launchpad had snapped out of his moment of introspection, the doors had flung open, a net had swooped down on him and he was tugged forcefully into the back of the vehicle. He didn't even have a chance to radio DW and let him know what was happening before the ice cream truck streaked off, going a good deal faster than any truck that attracted children ought to go.


	4. Act II, Chapter 1

  


  
Act II, Chapter 1   


  
The ice cream truck's stereo was blaring as Quackerjack drove along. It was tuned his favourite station, which was the 1960's bubble-gum oldies station - if anyone asked, he usually blamed the selection on Mr. Banana Brain, though in truth Mr. Banana Brain's favourite was the salsa station down at the other end of the dial - and just now the song playing was "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" by some forgotten teenager or other.  


  
Quackerjack liked the station because the music was so mindless that he could leave it on and still have space in his head to think. When it was really vapid, he could think and, at the same time, sing along. Loudly. He ran through four or five red lights, belting it out with the windows rolled down, before he reached the abandoned warehouse he'd been using as a hideout; the van was brought to a screeching halt, and Quackerjack failed to hit the high notes as he shut the engine down.  


  
He sat for a moment, the sudden silence pressing in around him, and then he let out a sigh and let his head fall forward onto the steering wheel.  


  
"What's wrong, Quackerjack ol' buddy?" asked Mr. Banana Brain from his position on the front seat.  


  
"Oh, you know what's wrong, don't play games," Quackerjack chided. He lifted his head and looked contrite. "Well, I shouldn't have snapped. It's just getting to me, this whole thing... The children." He sighed again, wistfully. "The children don't like the _toys_ , Mr. Banana Brain. What did I do wrong? Did I... did I make _bad_ toys?"  


  
Mr. Banana Brain remained motionless, but his high-pitched voice filled the front cab of the van. "No way, Clay! You _know_ that can't be it... try again!"  


  
Quackerjack allowed himself a very slight smile. "Well... I guess you're right. There's _certainly_ nothing wrong with my designs... so I wonder. Do you think it's just because I still can't get the ray working quite right?"  


  
"Bingo!" Mr. Banana Brain announced.  


  
Quackerjack leaned over and unbuckled the doll's seatbelt, then stepped out of the van. "It's just so _tricky_! I keep fiddling with it, but there's a delicate balance, and no matter how well it works on their bodies I can't get it to work right on their heads!" He squeezed Mr. Banana Brain's head without noticing as he clenched his hands dramatically into fists. "It was the perfect idea...! My toys weren't selling because they're aimed at _children_ , not parents; all parents are interested in is whatever's on the Top Ten Bland Toys for Boring Jerks list this year. The kids know what's good... but the _kids_ aren't the ones with the money."  


  
"Mmmphh mpphhhh mphh!" said Mr. Banana Brain from inside his fist.   


  
He loosened his grip. "Sorry, what was that?"  


  
"I said," squeaked the doll, "that it was a BRILLIANT idea you had next!"  


  
"Oh! Thank you! I know, it really was, wasn't it?" Quackerjack grinned modestly. "A ray gun that shrinks grown-ups down into kids! It just seemed so obvious when you really thought about it, didn't it? It's the next clear step for society. I de-age them, they buy my toys, my demographic expands exponentially and everyone is happy!" He deflated then. "Only it didn't work the right way. So far _none_ of the little Junior Mints has actually thought like a kid."  


  
"Psychologically speaking, they're all in perfect possession of their adult faculties," Mr. Banana Brain agreed conversationally. Quackerjack raised an eyebrow at him, and a moment later he added, "Just like you said, Fred!"  


  
"That's right. Instead of clamouring to play with the toys, I have to _force_ them. And not ONE of them has asked to take the toys home yet! I haven't even had an offer to purchase one, not even under the 'Buy 1, Get 1 Half Off' deal." After a moment's thought, he added, "In fact, taking into account what it costs to feed those little monsters, I think I'm actually _losing_ money. ...Or at least, I would be if I were _paying_ for their meals."  


  
"You spent a couple of hours working on the ray last night," Mr. Banana Brain pointed out, as Quackerjack crossed carefully to the back of the van. "Maybe it's finally fixed!"  


  
"Oh, I hope so. I wish I could believe that." Quackerjack paused, then shook his head. "Well, I guess we'll never know until we try it out." He flung the door to the back of the truck open, and grinned at his captive. "Why, hello there."  


  
The duck, a tall, broad-shouldered redhead in glasses, cringed toward the back of the truck. He chuckled nervously and wiggled his fingers in a tentative wave. "Uh, hiya."  


  
Quackerjack grabbed him by the hand and yanked him out of the truck, where he was instantly met with several large, snapping novelty teeth; these were enough to act as guard dogs. At this point the toymaker looked his captive up and down, musingly. There was something about him... "And _what_ is your name, hmm?"  


  
"Uh..." The tall duck looked up from the teeth snapping near his toes, and stammered, "H-Harv?"  


  
"'Harv'?" Quackerjack considered this, his eyes narrowing in thought. The tall duck swallowed, and finally Quackerjack slapped him heartily on the back. " _Nice_ name there, pal! Well, have a seat, won't you?"  


  
He pushed Harv towards a stool in the far end of the warehouse. The big duck obligingly took a seat, and Quackerjack moved away several feet, his back to the nervous prisoner as the novelty teeth closed in again. Over his shoulder, he said, "Well, Harv, let me start by saying that I am _so_ glad you could drop in tonight!"  


  
"Uh, no problemo..." Harv answered uncertainly.  


  
Quackerjack, humming "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" to himself, hooked up a few wires and then turned around to find a tripod to set up with. "So Harv," he said conversationally, "you look like a well-to-do individual. Snappy dresser, too." Harv gave a weak thanks, and Quackerjack nodded in acknowledgement. "And a man of taste, I'm quite sure! ...Could you scoot that thing in a little closer, ya think? Perfect." He arranged the tripod, held up his hands in a square and framed Harv within the space they made, and then nodded.  


  
Settling the compact but precise ray gun onto its tripod, Quackerjack asked, "Do you like _toys_ , Harv ol' buddy?"  


  
Harv stood up suddenly, and then sat back down just as quickly when the novelty teeth started to close in. He drew his feet up away from the floor and asked, "What's that thing?"  


  
"Ray gun. I'M supposed to be the one asking the questions here, y'know! It's not nice to interrupt, not at all! Didn't your Mommy teach you manners?" Quackerjack produced Mr. Banana Brain from somewhere behind his back, and the doll shook its head fervently and added, "Yeah, Four-Eyes! Rude attitude!"  


  
"Uh, sorry!" squeaked Harv, kicking nervously at a clacking jaw that was getting very close. He looked around wildly, apparently trying to locate the exits - not that these would do him any good. "Uh, yeah, sure! I love toys! Like the, uh, the Mr. History Doll!"  


  
Instantly Quackerjack forgot his ray gun, and clasped his hands in delight. "REALLY? I've always been fond of that little guy myself! How'd you hear about him?"  


  
"Oh, I - I used to have one as a kid!"  


  
"Yes! A great educational tool, isn't he? Kids don't need to go to school with him around, AND, you can make sure you never have insomnia again! And you-" He stopped, and gave Harv a close, examining look. "How old did you say you were when you had Mr. History?"  


  
"Uh, five or- or six?"  


  
The toymaker's expression turned sour, and in a flash he was behind the trigger of the ray gun again. "Mr. History _just_ had his tenth birthday last year, so _somebody_ 's pants are on fire, ' _Harv_ '."  


  
"Uh... well..." Harv looked stricken, then said quickly, "Well, my folks are always sayin' I'm tall for my age-"  


  
"Nice try." Quackerjack glared at him, but he was grinning at the same time. "I know you. You're that dopey pilot that hangs out with Dorkwing Drip. So that's two fibs you've told me, and I _don't_ like being lied to."  


  
"Uh, s-sorry?" Harv looked about the warehouse again, but most of the space was so dark that he couldn't possibly have seen anything.  


  
"Your Mommy really _did_ drop the ball with you, didn't she, 'Harv'? But that doesn't matter. In a few seconds we'll get the chance to give you the upbringing you _should_ have had." His finger slid slowly around a big red button, and then hovered just over it. Harv cringed.  


  
The quick *whoosh* that filled the darkened warehouse was enough to prompt Quackerjack to retract his finger before hitting the switch, and the voice that followed filled him with a kind of enraged, giddy glee. Echoing more than usual in the semi-empty space of the warehouse, the voice announced, "I AM THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT! I am the joy buzzer that slaps you on the keister!"  


  
Blue smoke was pouring in from all sides, and at this point another puff began to expand right in between the ray gun and its target. When it cleared, the snapping novelty teeth were all lying on their sides and Darkwing Duck was standing in front of them with his cape outstretched dramatically. Quackerjack rolled his eyes. "I... am _Darkwiiiiing Duck_!"  


  
"Well, _duh_ ," muttered Quackerjack.  


  
Darkwing didn't acknowledge that remark, if he even heard it. "I'm not about to let you crisp my compadre, you crooked crackpot!"  


  
From behind him, the pilot sidekick said, "Kinda last-minute there, DW..."  


  
"Shh!" Darkwing shot over his shoulder, "I couldn't just burst in at _any_ point, you know!"  


  
"But-"  


  
"Zip it!" he snarled through clenched teeth, and turned back to his arch-enemy, whipping out his gas gun. "Hands up, Quackerjack! You're going to jail for kidnapping and attempted murder!"  


  
With a bored look on his face, Quackerjack said, "Wrong, not quite, and wrong, Mr. Know-It-All! I'm not trying to kill anyone, 'kidnapping' is a terribly ugly word, and most importantly, I'M not going anywhere!" He made for the red switch on his ray gun.  


  
Darkwing saw the movement, and acted in an instant. Rather than take a chance on the effectiveness of the gas gun, he decided that a physical attack was the best and quickest option to defuse the situation. He sprang forward in a drop-kick position, swinging his leg as soon as he was within range, and the ray gun went soaring off of the tripod and across the wrong where it hit a wall. Something shattered.  


  
Quackerjack gasped loudly. "NO! All my _work_! You'll pay for breaking my toys, you party-pooper!" He produced a smaller replica of Mr. Banana Brain and tossed it at Darkwing, who caught it instinctively as Quackerjack ran off towards the remains of his ray gun.   


  
He stared at the doll; it was ticking. "Don't tell me this is one of those-"  


  
He didn't finish the sentence before the doll exploded noisily in his hands, leaving him blackened and more than slightly shaken.  


  
Launchpad reached his side a moment later. "DW! You okay?"  


  
"I..." In all honesty, his entire upper body hurt and his eyeballs felt like they'd been fried, but he could probably shake it off in a moment. "Never... better."  


  
"Where'd Quackerjack go? I think we got time to make a run for it!"  


  
Darkwing stood, trying to shake some sense back into his head, and frowned. "Not a chance! Darkwing Duck doesn't run when he's got the upper hand; now is the time to strike!"  


  
"But he's got a gun, DW -"  


  
"So do _I_ ," Darkwing pointed out in irritation, raising his gas gun and shaking it a little for emphasis. "Now step aside so I can spot him and-"  


  
"Not so fast!" Quackerjack shouted, stepping out of the shadows with his ray gun - slightly the worse for wear - in his hands. "I think it's time we found out what kinds of toys _you_ like to play with, Darkwing."  


  
Darkwing aimed his gas gun in an instant. "Put it down, Quacky. I already smashed it once."  


  
With a laugh, Quackerjack said, "That's what's going to make this so much fun! We don't know _what'll_ happen now! And I _love_ surprises!"  


  
He pushed the red button, and the ray gun flared to life in a burst of blue sparks. The sparks coalesced into a beam - almost a bar - and the beam shot at Darkwing, hitting him in the chest and knocking him, physically, across the room.  


  
The beam shut off as Quackerjack howled with laughter. "WAHAHAHA! Did you see that, Mr. Banana Brain? It was like swatting a fly!"  


  
Launchpad held himself back from rushing to help Darkwing; Quackerjack was still holding that gun, even if he wasn't using it, and Launchpad couldn't kid himself that he'd make it far if he tried to move now. From the corner of his eye he noticed a dark blotch on the floor; when he looked down he realized it was the gas gun, which must have fallen out of DW's hands when he was hit with the ray.  


  
He ducked down and picked it up, but since he didn't know if it was loaded - or with what - he did the second best thing and just tossed it straight at Quackerjack. The gun beaned the toymaker straight between the eyes, then bounced off of his oversized bill and ricocheted - luckily - close to where it had been thrown from.  


  
Quackerjack stopped laughing abruptly when the weapon hit him. "OW!" he said, sounding more annoyed than anything else. "That _hurt_!" He paused a moment to rub his head, and by the time he looked up again, Launchpad had grabbed the gas gun, bolted to pick up the unconscious vigilante in the corner, and was already nearly out the door. "HARV! Get back here, you're not playing fair!"  


  


* * *

  


  
Launchpad had to hunt a little bit to find where Darkwing had left the Ratcatcher, but he wasted no time in tossing DW into the sidecar and speeding off once he'd discovered it. A few minutes away from the warehouse, he realized he had no idea where he was going. He couldn't go home - it was still early and Beth would probably still be there, plus where would he park the motorcycle without drawing attention to it?  


  
So he should probably go to the Tower, only he wasn't really good at getting there when he wasn't either coming from home or landing the ThunderQuack. Darkwing normally did the driving, and he wasn't in any state to drive just now.  


  
He wished he could tell how hurt DW was. Maybe Launchpad should head over to the hospital. He was still unconscious, but he'd definitely been alive when Launchpad had grabbed him - he'd been breathing for sure. At least, Launchpad was fairly sure he had been. Almost sure. Although he'd been pretty panicked...  


  
Launchpad pulled over and parked the cycle, then rushed to the other side. Now that they were out of immediate danger and he had an opportunity to really look, Darkwing looked... smaller than usual. He hoped that was his imagination, although he didn't really know what the implications were if it was true. Still, though, he could see immediately that Darkwing was breathing regularly. Relieved, he leaned closer to see if there were any visible injuries.  


  
Then he stood up and scratched his head before leaning back down and looking closely again.  


  
Up close, Darkwing looked physically unharmed. He looked asleep. And he looked about eight or nine years old.  


  
Launchpad crouched beside the Ratcatcher's side car, trying to figure out what he should do next. This kind of thing was not his strong suit. Providing back-up, flying the plane, occasionally making dinner - those things were among his strong points. This was not.  


  
He reached out and shook Darkwing's shoulder. Darkwing's response was to whine a little and bat at Launchpad's hand, and when Launchpad tried again, Darkwing said in an unmistakably high voice, "Mommmm, it's Saturday, lemme alone!"  


  
"DW," Launchpad said, graduating to patting the shrunken superhero's cheeks to rouse him. "C'mon, DW, wake up!"  


  
His eyes flickered open, and Darkwing looked up blearily. For a moment he was silent, and Launchpad wondered with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach whether DW would even remember him. Then he said, "Launchpad... why was I sleeping on the curb of a downtown intersection?" He stopped, and sat up straighter, his eyes wide. "Wait, was that my voice? Was that - MY voice?!"  


  
"I think Quackerjack's ray gun might've done somethin' to you, DW," Launchpad offered.  


  
Darkwing gave a young child's passable imitation of a sidelong glare. "Ya THINK?" he snapped. He pushed himself to his feet and struggled out of the Ratcatcher's sidecar, tripping slightly on his cape. He looked at his feet in confusion as he touched down on the ground, staggering slightly, then looked at his hands. The sleeves of his costume bunched around his wrists and still overhung, covering most of his palms and about half of each thumb. He stared at both hands, turning them over and over, until his hat slipped and fell over his eyes.  


  
Grunting in frustration, he reached up and tore the hat from his head, tossed it back into the Ratcatcher, and then looked up at Launchpad... way, _way_ up at Launchpad. The look in his eyes told of a spark of panic settling in. "Launchpad," he said in a wobbly tone, "what's happened to me?"  


  
"Uh, nothin' much, actually," Launchpad lied. It was an obvious lie, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to upset the little guy any farther. "I mean, I think you look... just fine!"  


  
"Really?" Darkwing asked in a small, hopeful voice.  


  
"Well... maybe a little, uh, younger than usual..."  


  
With that, DW pushed past him, looking in every direction until he found a wide store window that he could stare into. When he was within sight he stopped, and just stood for a moment. Then he put both hands against the glass, moved closer, and let his head fall gently onto it. "I'm a _kid_ ," he said in disbelief.  


  
"Well, uh, yeah. You are."  


  
Whirling angrily, he said sharply, "You call this 'just fine'?!"  


  
Launchpad shrugged half-heartedly. "You're not _hurt_... That's somethin'!"  


  
He expected a yell, a growled sarcastic response, or possibly even a physical threat - DW could be very expressive when he was upset - but what Launchpad didn't expect was for Darkwing to stamp his foot, cross his arms, and pout. "This isn't FAIR! That guy turned me into a kid for NO good _reason_!"  


  
Since Launchpad couldn't fathom what an acceptably good reason would be, he didn't answer this.  


  
Darkwing didn't wait for an answer anyway. "C'mon. Get in the sidecar." He crossed around to the other side, tripping over his cape only once, and started straining to pull himself up into the driver's seat.  


  
"Where're we goin'? The Tower?"   


  
"Not a chance! Darkwing Duck doesn't run from a bad guy, Launchpad, no matter what kind of ray gun he gets hit with! We're going back there and I am gonna pick Quackerjack up and - and _shake_ him until he turns me back into a grownup!" He stopped for a moment, glaring at the Ratcatcher in frustration, and then tried to swing his leg over the seat again. It didn't work.  


  
"You sure you can drive this thing?" Launchpad asked, perhaps unwisely.  


  
"YES!" Darkwing snapped. "It's still my bike! Just because I've got a pipsqueak body doesn't mean I'm not ME, y'know!"  


  
"Well, yeah, but..." Launchpad cringed as Darkwing managed to get himself seated, and his feet failed to touch the pedals. "Uh, I was just thinkin' though, maybe we should wait an' find out if there are any other side effects before we go back to Quackerjack's hideout. Y'know?" Darkwing's eyes narrowed; he clearly didn't agree. Launchpad tried again. "I'm just sayin', well, he's probably waitin' for us to come back - an' instead, you can go home tonight an' make sure everything's workin' the right way, and surprise him tomorrow. Right?"  


  
Darkwing considered this carefully, and then made a face at Launchpad but said slowly, "I guess... Yeah, that makes sense."  


  
He still, however, insisted that Launchpad let him drive the Ratcatcher back to the Tower. After a lot of slow detours onto the wrong side of the street, they finally made it, just before midnight. Darkwing seemed exceptionally tired by that point and he had trouble dragging himself out of the chair once they'd returned to the house.  


  
"C'mon DW. Off to bed," Launchpad prompted him, tugging at his arm.  


  
"Ugh, I'm too tired," Darkwing answered perversely, flopping onto the arm of the chair. The whole idea of being too tired to go to bed made Launchpad's head hurt, and he wasn't sure how to help.  


  
"You wanna sleep on the couch?" he offered.  


  
Darkwing gave him a funny look. "No!" he said, and bounced up off the cushion, then stepped lightly towards the stairs. "Man, LP, tomorrow that old Quackerjerk isn't gonna know what HIT him."  


  
Launchpad followed him. "DW, Gos is asleep, so you should probably be-"  


  
"Oh, don't tell me, I have to be _quiet_ ," he said, actually slightly louder than he had been before. "I'm not dumb, LP, I can figure these things out for myself! Why're you waving your hands like that?"  


  
Launchpad stopped trying to shush the young boy when the door to Gosalyn's room opened and the ten-year-old stepped out, looking sleepy. "Dad? Everything okay?"  


  
"Uh, everything's fine, go back to bed," Darkwing rumbled in as low of a squeak as he could manage. He jammed his hat onto his head and tried to cover up as much of his face as was possible.  


  
Gosalyn, however, saw through this instantly. "What's wrong with your voice? And your head?" She stepped out of her room and, once she was close enough to her now-youthful father, goggled at him. She lifted his hat from his head and stared. "Whoa, Dad!"  


  
"We, uh, ran into a little problem," Launchpad said. He and Gosalyn locked eyes for a moment, and then they both got a case of the giggles.  


  
Darkwing didn't see the humour in the situation. Grabbing his hat back from Gosalyn, he said, "Boy, if you guys find kids so amusing I'm surprised you're able to make it through a school day without hyperventilating."  


  
"But you're so _tiny_ ," Gosalyn said through her giggles.  


  
"Thanks a ton." The fact that Darkwing was a couple of inches shorter than his daughter had not escaped his attention.  


  
"C'mon Gos," Launchpad interjected when they'd both regained some control over themselves, "you need to get back to bed. And DW's had a long day too."  


  
"Will you _stop_ talking to me like I'm _five_ , Launchpad?!" Darkwing snapped as he stalked towards his room.  


  
"That's right, Launchpad, he's obviously at _least_ eight," Gosalyn chimed in. The glare that Darkwing shot at her didn't keep her from laughing well after she'd gone back to bed.  
  



	5. Act II, Chapter 2

  


  
**Darkwing Duck: Forever Young  
by Zebeckras**   


  


* * *

  


  
_I really wanted to have this chapter done during May, and at least one more chapter done this month. Life had other ideas. :P_   


  


* * *

  


  
Launchpad didn't know what time it was when he was dragged out of his sleep by the sound of the banging from the floor below. It felt early, though. For the first few minutes he just lay in bed, groggily trying to figure out if the noise was real or just in his head; eventually the fog cleared just enough for him to realize it was an external kind of noise, and so he forced his eyes open to face the alarm clock.  


  
Sure enough, it was just barely 8 am. He and DW hadn't gotten in until close to midnight the night before, and while that was an early night for their usual schedules, he still didn't feel up to starting the day this early...  


  
And speaking of DW - Darkwing was a kid now. Weren't they supposed to need way more sleep than grown-ups? That thought got Launchpad out of bed and down the stairs with the intent of telling Gosalyn to keep it down before she woke up her father; the poor guy was under enough stress without having to deal with sleep deprivation too. Halfway down the stairs he realized there was too much noise for just one kid - even Gosalyn; he was just thinking that it seemed awfully early for Honker to be coming over when he entered the living room and came to a stop.  


  
Neither of the two kids playing - both involved in a major pillow fight - seemed to notice him for the first few moments. There were feathers everywhere, even still floating in the air, and several ripped pillowcases strewn over the back of the sofa; Gosalyn was weilding a pillow in each fist, swinging one in a circle over her head with a war whoop as she held the other at the ready in front of her. Her playmate, who was also the owner of the house, had only one pillow and was holding it defensively, but from the look on his face he was formulating a strategy that would be put into play shortly.  


  
Launchpad stared at the mess and thought, _DW is gonna go nuts over this,_ before reminding himself that DW was _right there_. It was the strangest kind of feeling for just a second there, staring at someone and wondering how they would react to themselves under different circumstances.  


  
Gosalyn saw him first, and her eyes widened slightly before she let her arm drop, still holding the pillow. "OH, uh..."  


  
"HA! Wide open!" Darkwing - or Drake, as he was out of costume and wearing what Launchpad vaguely recognized as one of Gosalyn's sports uniforms - shouted, and he clobbered her with the pillow he'd been clutching. She fell over with a loud, outraged "OOMF!" Drake threw his hands in the air and crowed, "YES! And the championship belt goes to-"  


  
He saw Launchpad, and stopped cold; for a split second, he even looked panicked. Then he pulled himself together, crossed his arms, and said coolly, "Uh, so yes, as I was saying, Gosalyn... A new direction for the living room's interior design _would_ be a good idea. Oh, good morning Launchpad. Can I help you?"  


  
Launchpad was torn between an instinct to scold both kids, and an uncomfortable sense of inappropriateness of scolding his boss, so he compromised and spoke to Gosalyn. "So, pillow fight, huh Gos?"  


  
She sat up, looking sheepish. "Totally Dad's idea," she said, almost humbly. Almost, except that the way she was surrounded by the remnants of the sofa pillows made it clear she hadn't offered any resistance. Her parent in question responded with an open-mouthed, indignant expression.  


  
"C'mon Gos, you oughta know better than this," Launchpad said mildly, and he stooped to pick up the pillow that was in Gosalyn's lap.  


  
"That's right," Drake piped up, nodding emphatically.  


  
Gosalyn's brows drew together. "Hey, c'mon! Why isn't _he_ getting any of the parental outrage?"   


  
They both looked at Drake, who looked back with a smug expression; then Launchpad shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "He's younger," he said, hoping it sounded reasonable. "You've gotta set the example."  


  
"Hmph," Gosalyn said sourly. "I wonder."  


  
Launchpad chuckled, and helped her to her feet. "You guys can clean up after breakfast," he said, and led them both to the kitchen. Drake scrambled in and seated himself ahead of the others, and his feet swung against the back of the chair's legs without touching the ground. Gosalyn helped herself to cereal, as Drake just sat and looked expectantly at Launchpad as the pilot started getting his breakfast together. Eventually Launchpad looked back at him, and they both stared for a few moments in silence before Launchpad, bewildered, asked, "Did ya need something?"  


  
"What's for breakfast?" Drake asked.  


  
"Uh, I dunno," Launchpad answered. Gosalyn made her own breakfast each morning, and it hadn't even occurred to him that he might have to do the family cooking. There were a number of things that he was discovering, actually, and none of them had occurred to him until he was face-to-face with them. "What, uh... what would you want?"  


  
"Oh, bad question," Gosalyn said as she sat down at the table.  


  
Drake brightened in his seat. "Bacon! And eggs, and..." He thought for a moment, then added, "Toast with honey!"  


  
"Sure," Launchpad said, and turned to get started. All that did sound good... though he could do without the honey on the toast, but otherwise...  


  
"Oh, and some pancakes!" Drake added. Launchpad nodded in response. Drake made one last request. "And coffee!"  


  
"NO," said Launchpad and Gosalyn firmly. Drake shrank in his chair, effectively intimidated.  


  
Breakfast took longer to prepare than Launchpad was used to - nearly a half an hour - but Gosalyn helped and the pancakes were edible, so it seemed worth it. Once they were finished, Launchpad happened to glance at the clock and realized it was only just before 9 o'clock. It occurred to him that this was going to be a very long day and he wasn't sure just exactly how to fill it. Although, granted, that choice wasn't entirely up to him.  


  
"So, DW," he began, one could almost say hopefully, "any thoughts on where to start for tryin' to get you fixed?"  


  
"Get me 'fixed'?" asked Drake, sounding almost exactly like his old self as he raised an eyebrow sourly.  


  
"Oh, uh, well, y'know... not YOU, specifically, just... the whole, uh, age. Thing." Launchpad pointed his finger in the general direction around the hero-turned-grade-schooler.  


  
"Of course I've had thoughts, LP," said Drake in response, and he sat back in his chair. "I think we should go back to where we last saw Quackerjack, and then I think we should beat him up."  


  
There was a brief silence, which Gosalyn broke. "Well... it's succinct, anyway."  


  
"It is _not_ , you are!" Drake argued peevishly.  


  
The idea wasn't entirely without its good points, but Launchpad was left uneasy by the whole thing. Darkwing really was undeniably not himself, and Launchpad couldn't help but feel responsible for him, even if he was left feeling a little awkward at the same time. "Okay, uh, sounds good," he said warily.  


  
Drake gave Gosalyn a superior smirk, and Gosalyn in turn shot Launchpad a look that without a doubt accused him of favoritism. "Sounds _good_? That's _lame_! If that's the kind of strategy you're going to follow, Launchpad, then I'm taking over this group!"  


  
"I'd like to see ya try!" Drake said, jumping down from his chair and standing up at his full height, which of course fell a couple of inches short of Gosalyn's full height.  


  
Weakly, Launchpad interjected, "Gos, calm down, we - we're gonna fill in the details... How's about we head to the Tower an' work this all out?"  


  


* * *

  


  
The only problem with this suggestion, it turned out, was that it had been too vague. Drake still had no real idea what to do once they got there, and the initial idea to look at the computer for research (which was really a time-filler already) devolved into a video game match between him and Gosalyn that went on for close to three hours before Launchpad called it off.   


  
"Okay. DW, we need a plan. Now, uh, I know you didn't ask _me_ ," he began, and waited for any kind of protest. None came, so he continued, "But I was sorta thinkin' about it while you were - uh - busy, an' here's what I got. This case has turned out to be kinda tricky, so I think we should call over to Duckburg an' see if Gizmoduck-"  


  
"NO! No-way-ho-SAY," Drake cut in instantly.  


  
Gosalyn said, "Dad, lighten up! Gizmoduck is cool, and he could really help you!"  


  
Drake crossed his arms stubbornly. "Gizmoduck is NOT cool and I will NOT work with him."  


  
"Oh-kay," said Launchpad, his patience growing thin, "that's my best idea, so what did _you_ come up with in the past few hours, DW?"  


  
Drake cocked his head, managing to look cocky and uncertain at the same time, and said, "Well, clearly we... should be going out and looking for clues."  


  
Okay, that was a start, but... Launchpad had to ask the next question. "Uh, clues for what?" He got two blank looks, from Drake and Gosalyn both. "I mean - we already know Quackerjack is behind this, we know where he's hidin' out, we know WHY he's doin' it, and we know what weapon he used." He counted all of these off on his fingers, and looked up at Drake. The boy looked crestfallen. "I'm just sayin', we have all this information, but what should we do with it? That's the... uh..."  


  
Drake looked even more upset now. "LP... this is a lot harder than it used to be," he said weakly. He sounded tired. "The answer's _usually_ to go look for clues, so I thought if I said that, it'd be right... So what _am_ I supposed to say?"  


  
Launchpad shrugged helplessly. "I dunno either. It's not just you, DW."  


  
"WHY can't we just go beat him up, LP?" Drake asked plaintively.  


  
"Well..." Launchpad wasn't sure how to answer this, but Gosalyn stepped in.  


  
"Well Dad, just think about the position Launchpad's in right now. Why is it you always say you don't want _me_ to go beat up the bad guys with you?" she asked comfortingly - or at least, more or less comfortingly.  


  
Drake shrugged. "I dunno," he said.  


  
Gosalyn looked back at him, eyes wide. "You really don't? So... can I come out with you when you go beat up Quackerjack, then?"  


  
"Sure!" Drake perked up. "Can Gos come too?" he asked Launchpad.  


  
"Uh - now wait a minute-"  


  
"Keen GEAR! Thanks, Dad, you rock!" Gosalyn high-fived him, and Drake looked even more pleased.  


  
Launchpad now felt completely overwhelmed, since it now dawned on him that he was the _only_ functional adult in this group and both the kids he was now responsible for were drastically more strongly-willed than the ones he'd helped take care of when he was working for Scrooge McDuck. He put up his hands. "Whoa, guys, hang on now! I never said we were gonna go beat anyone up, okay? I said we need a better plan, 'cause what's gonna stop Quackerjack from usin' that ray on all three of us this time?"  


  
"Well, we don't know if it'd work twice on me," Drake said in a speculative tone.  


  
"Yeah, but not knowing isn't the same as knowing not," Gosalyn answered. Launchpad and Drake both took a second to try to wrap their heads around that statement, and Gosalyn sighed. "I'm saying Launchpad's right and we should wait until we know what we're doing."  


  
"Thanks, Gos," Launchpad said sincerely. "Say, it's gettin' late, how's about we go out an' pick up some lunch? I bet we'll think better after some food."  


  
"PIZZA!" yelled Drake, shooting to his feet and running for the armchairs.  


  
Gosalyn rose more slowly, and shook her head. "Ahhh, to be young again," she said to Launchpad. "So, pizza?"  


  
"Sure, I can cover that," he answered. Something nagged at the back of his mind, and while the chairs were spinning it occurred to him that they would need to get in touch with Beth and cancel her babysitting that night, just in case this didn't get fixed. When he stood up, he said, "Guys, I think I oughta call Beth and tell her to take the night off, okay?"  


  
Gosalyn fidgeted for some reason when he said this, but she said, "Good idea! Wouldn't want her just showing up and finding out all about Dad's secret identity and hideout, and things like that, huh?"  


  
Launchpad was already dialing the phone, and Drake said, "You know what? You should just go on and fire her!"  


  
Launchpad frowned and hung up the phone. "What? Naw, how come? We need her to take care of Gos!"  


  
"But she's a _dweeb_ ," Drake said insistently. "Let's just get rid of her?"  


  
"If that means I get to come along on adventures from now on, maybe it's for the best, Launchpad," Gosalyn said eagerly.  


  
"Nuh-uh," said Launchpad firmly, and he glared a little as he dialed. As an afterthought, he hung up again, then left the kids in the living room and went to make the call in the kitchen instead.  


  


* * *

  


  
It was nearing 1 pm when the phone rang, and Beth was tidying up the store and humming to herself and waiting for Henny to return from her lunch break so that Beth could go out on hers. Given that Henny had arrived at the store for her shift thirty minutes earlier, Beth had a feeling that she shouldn't have agreed so easily to let her manager take the first lunch break that day, but sometimes with Henny it was just easier not to argue.  


  
Well, pretty much all the time, she allowed with a sigh as she made her way to the phone and picked it up on the third ring. "Hello, Bindler's Hardware, may I help you?"  


  
"Hey, Beth, how's it goin'?" a masculine, and decidedly familiar, voice asked. Beth felt absolutely certain that she should know the voice, but the list of people who would call her at work was limited to one, and her mother was not a man.  


  
She stalled, trying to find a neutral response that wouldn't make it obvious she didn't know the caller. "I, well, I'm great! I hope you're great too..."  


  
"Oh, y'know, same old. 'Great', huh? Things goin' that good today?" He chuckled, and at that, the voice clicked.  


  
"OH! Launchpad, hi!" she blurted, then winced; now she sounded like an idiot.  


  
"Hi," he answered. After a pause, he laughed again. "Guess I shoulda said it was me, huh?"  


  
"God, I'm sorry, I'm just a dope." She smiled and settled with her back against the back counter where the phone was located, and leaned back comfortably. "I totally recognized the voice but I haven't had lunch yet, so I don't know, I'm kind of all over the place and I couldn't place you."  


  
"Nah, you must get a ton of phone calls a day. I shoulda thought of that. You goin' to lunch soon?"  


  
"Oh, yeah, as soon as Henny gets back from her break."  


  
"I thought she came in late today and closed?"  


  
Beth stopped and took a moment to marvel over the fact that he remembered that. Launchpad regularly stopped by on Fridays when Henny wasn't in, but today was a Tuesday. She hadn't realized he actually knew the store's full schedule, but apparently she'd mentioned it more often than she'd thought. "Well, yes, but she said she was really hungry and wanted to go out first. She's due back any time now. So, how are you? I mean - what's up?" Thinking suddenly of Drake - or rather, Darkwing - as she had been doing off and on since the night before, she asked more urgently, "Is - is everything okay?"  


  
"Well, yeah..." He sounded uncertain, but didn't elaborate. Nevertheless, Beth relaxed a little bit; if something was really _wrong_ , he'd have told her, right? So Drake must be okay. Still, the way he'd said it had left a lot of room for interpretation, and she knew she wouldn't be able to rest completely if she didn't have at least a little more information. She wondered what was the most tactful way to ask; would Launchpad let her get away with just coming out and asking him?  


  
She was still pondering this when Henny came back in to the store. When she saw Beth on the phone, she stopped short, then narrowed her eyes. "How long's that call been goin'?" she asked sharply.  


  
"Oh - um - only about a minute," Beth answered. On the phone she heard Launchpad say "Huh?" and said, "Hang on a sec."  


  
Henny gave her a glance that was suggestive of mistrust, and pointed at her as she made for the back room. "Personal calls are no longer than five minutes," she said warningly, and disappeared.  


  
"Um, yes! I know!" Beth called after her as obediently as she could, though privately she found the reminder needless and insulting. On the other hand, at least Henny wasn't hovering the way she had been two days ago when Beth had had to call a taxi. "Whew," she said quietly once the room was clear again, "sorry about that."  


  
"What was that? Five minutes?"  


  
"Oh, we got audited by the Home Office a few days ago and Henny got, um, spoken to on a few things. They said the cash balance wasn't exact, we needed more steady coverage during busy times, and they apparently made a big deal about how much time was spent on personal calls. So she's been on the warpath about limiting all personal calls to five minutes or less. I still have, um, about three minutes left on this one though..."  


  
There was a short pause. "Do ya really spend that long on the phone here?"  


  
Beth snorted. "No, not me, I don't have anyone to talk to, but you know. Everyone follows the same rules, right?"  


  
"Hey, I should call ya more then. That way you'd have someone to talk to on the phone."  


  
"For five minutes," she said with a laugh.  


  
"Yep! Heck, if you're gonna have to follow a rule..."  


  
"Oh, absolutely. I wonder, if we kept hanging up every five minutes and then calling back, would she get upset?"  


  
Launchpad actually snorted laughing over that, which Beth found surprisingly gratifying. When he was a little more coherent, he said, "Whoa - didn't expect that kinda line from you!"  


  
She grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know, sorry... it's just... you know, it seems so unnecessary, and..."  


  
"Does it bother you?" he asked, with a directness that she didn't expect.  


  
It did, of course, but she really hesitated to _say_ so. "Well..."  


  
"Why don't ya say somethin', then?"  


  
"OH no." She turned around to look at the door to the back room, as if even the few words she was not saying aloud could incriminate her if Henny should emerge just now. "Nooo, no, there's - well, there's nothing TO say, really."  


  
Launchpad's tone was still friendly and cheerful, but more serious than she was used to. "Well, I'm not sayin' you should say you're gonna quit or anythin', just stand up for yourself a little. Tell her you don't think you were breakin' that rule to start with an', uh... I dunno, that you want a raise."  


  
"Pffff, stop it." In an even lower voice, Beth added, "It's not that big of a deal, and you know, since I'm barely on the phone anyway it's not as if she's saying it to me all that much, so it's better to just let it go. I need to have a thicker skin anyway."  


  
There was the briefest of pauses, and then Launchpad said, "I dunno... I've heard the way she talks to you, Beth." He sounded even more serious. Beth's stomach tightened. "I really think you oughta say somethin' back or else she's just gonna keep doin' it."  


  
Beth hesitated before answering, because she didn't want to admit it aloud, but he was right; in the years she'd known Henny, there had been a slow but constant push-and-retreat going on between them. Henny was always expanding her territory, in a sense, seeing how much she could put onto Beth, how much new work or how many cutting remarks, and Beth was always taking it, moving back to give Henny the space she needed, and sometimes she felt like she was slowly but surely backing up against a corner she wouldn't be able to get back out of -  


  
The door to the back room swung open and Beth instantly babbled, "ANYway I have to get going but thanks SO much for calling! I really enjoyed this!" She caught Henny eyeing her, and smiled widely.  


  
"Well, sure, I'm glad to - OH, hey, wait!" Launchpad's voice rose, and so did Henny's eyebrow when Beth didn't hang up the phone. "I almost forgot why I called ya!"  


  
"Oh sure! Sorry about that!" She mouthed "Just one minute!" at Henny, who rolled her eyes widely and went back into the back room. Beth had a horrible feeling she was going to be written up, but she had no intention of rushing Launchpad off the phone if he had something important to tell her. "What's up?"  


  
"Yeah, uh... I just wanted to letcha know that we, uh, we don't need ya to babysit tonight, so you can take the evenin' off."  


  
This should have been totally reasonable, Beth knew, but it somehow didn't feel that way. Maybe it was the sort of hedgy, awkward way that Launchpad was telling her, as if he knew it would upset her, that was actually what WAS upsetting her; but regardless she felt crushed. "You... you don't?"  


  
"Nah, somethin' came up, and-"  


  
"Drake! Is - is Drake all right?!" THAT was it. Because if the bowling was a cover for his being Darkwing, and he couldn't go out and be Darkwing, it stood to reason that something had _happened_ since the last time she had seen him...  


  
"He's, uh, fine," Launchpad said quickly. "I mean, I guess maybe he has a cold. Yeah - it's a cold, actually. Came home feelin' kinda low last night, an' he just thought we'd blow off the league tonight an' rest up."  


  
So that meant he wasn't _dead_ \- that was a good sign... How long did a cold take to go away? Probably not as long as a broken bone so as long as he didn't have this "cold" for six to eight weeks she could rule that out... "Should, well, I could - I could come by with chicken soup or something-"  


  
"No! No, because - we don't wantcha to get sick! An' really, he's gonna be just fine, he's only kinda worn out - probably by tomorrow night he'll be right back in the saddle."  


  
She relaxed slightly. "Just one night?" she asked meekly.  


  
"I'm sure," he said reassuringly. There was something in his tone that made her want to ask him to promise it, just to make her feel better, but she resisted the impulse. Instead, she gave a long sigh.   


  
Well, it was for the best that she didn't have to bring anything like soup, because she didn't think she could even heat up a can without burning it. "Okay," she said, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow night, then."  


  
"For sure! Lookin' forward to it," Launchpad said, and then Henny yelled something about TEN minutes, and Beth had to make her apologies and get off the phone, and Launchpad was apologizing in the meantime about getting her into trouble, and in the end she was left disappointed and unhappy and frustrated with Henny and only THEN did she realize that she hadn't asked Launchpad at all if he'd had the chance to ask Drake about her; and then to top it all off Henny did that _thing_ where she called from the backroom without bothering to come out and ask face-to-face.  


  
"Beeeeth, couldja run out and pick me up a soda?"  


  
Generally Beth hated speaking to a closed door, so this was usually her cue to dart into the back office and talk to Henny directly, but she was not feeling up to it so she just yelled back. "I thought you just got back from lunch?"  


  
"I forgot to pick one up for later!"  


  
Beth sighed and closed her eyes, as if anticipating a headache. "Do you have any cash today?"  


  
"No, nothin' on me! I'll owe ya!"  


  
The phrase "I'll owe ya" meant "I'll buy you a soda next time", not "I'll pay you back" and since Beth didn't usually drink soda, the trade was not entirely to her liking. "Henny, I'm sorry, I don't have anything either!" she called back, and wondered if it might actually be true. She rather hoped it was, or else she had a feeling she'd feel guilty over this later.  


  
There was a pause. Then, "You don't have _fifty cents_?"  


  
"No, I don't have _any_ thing! That's not so weird, I mean, you don't either!" Beth reminded her.  


  
This seemed to be enough to get her off the hook, because after another pause, Henny called, "Just grab it from the register then!"  


  
This actually got Beth to the door and into the back office. "I can't do that!" she said, shocked.  


  
Henny gave her a bored look. "Yes you can. We'll just pay it back later. Look, Beth, it's _fifty cents_. It's chump change. Why is this an issue?!"  


  
"Okay. Okay." Beth nodded, returned to the front, and opened the register. Then she stared. She had an idea that either SHE was going to be putting this change back in the next day, or else Henny was going to be buying extra sodas to pay the cash register back. And wasn't there some issue with the register balancing before now? So the time spent on the phone was so vital, but the cash register funds being exact was expendable? This didn't make any sense.  


  
Beth grabbed a strip of receipt paper and scribbed on it "IOU 50 cents" then added below, "Henny Chickstein". Then she stuck it into the register, underneath the pull-out drawer where the big bills were kept, and took out fifty cents in change before slamming the drawer shut. Henny was closing that night; she could think whatever she wanted about the IOU when she saw it, since Beth would be at home for the night by that point.  
  



	6. Act II, Chapter 3

"It's too bad Honker's not here," Gosalyn said as they walked down the street in the downtown St. Canard area, "I'm sure he'd do a great job thinking of a plan."  


  
" _I_ can think of a plan," Drake said peevishly.  


  
Gosalyn nodded indulgently. "Yes, Dad, you're the best 8-year-old crimefighter ever."  


  
Standing just behind both of the kids, Launchpad asked, "Why don't we go get 'im? Ya might be right, he could have some great ideas."  


  
"Oh, he'll be in school for at least another couple of hours," Gosalyn said dismissively.  


  
Launchpad came to a screeching halt. "Wait, _school_? It's a school day?!"  


  
Gosalyn stopped as well, and turned to look at him inquisitively. "Uh, heh, you mean you didn't know...? I thought it was just, y'know, class cancelled on account of Family Emergency!" She grabbed at Launchpad's arm. "You're not gonna make me go _now_ , are you?"  


  
It didn't seem to make a lot of sense - it was after 1 in the afternoon - but Launchpad had an overwhelming sense of guilt and failure. He frowned. "I dunno, Gos - school is important!"  


  
"Daaad!" Gosalyn appealed desperately.  


  
Drake straightened up to his full height, vastly shorter than Launchpad and not quite measuring up to his daughter, and said importantly, "Let it go, LP. She's learning a LOT more out here with us than she would in some stuffy institutional prison!"  


  
Gleefully, Gosalyn nodded. "That's _exactly_ what I was going to say! Stuffy institutional prison and everything!"  


  
"But..." Launchpad felt like he was suffering immensely; nothing was going right, and he had so little control over the situation, and if _he_ didn't, who would? He looked between Gosalyn and Drake, who were each giving him defiant expressions - Gosalyn's tempered with a plea, and Drake's tempered with an air of almost comical inexperience, but still essentially defiance - and said uncertainly, "Well... you're goin' to school tomorrow no matter _what_." To Drake, he added, "Right, DW?"  


  
Drake pondered this. "We'll talk later." Launchpad felt his spirits drop, and with that both of the kids turned and continued their walk down the street, occasionally nudging each other and pointing to various things, and totally ignoring him.  


  
Launchpad was so intent on coming up with a plan that he didn't pay much attention to where they ended up, and when he did pull himself together and look around he realized that they were in a video arcade and DW was cashing in all the money in his wallet for a huge round of quarters. He made a move to step in, then hesitated - was there any possibility this was part of a plan?  


  
Well, it was... unlikely, but he decided to play it safe regardless. "Uh, DW, can I just check-"  


  
"Launchpad! Perfect!" Drake handed his wallet to his sidekick and said "Can you go find an ATM and take out some extra money? I mean, just in case we need it?" He looked to Gosalyn. "What do you think? We have about seven dollars here... Think another twenty would do it?"  


  
"This," said Gosalyn happily, "is the best day ever."  


  
"Drake," said Launchpad sternly, "I'm not gonna go take out money so that you can waste the day playin' video games. We need ta figure out a plan to take down Quackerjack, an' you should be working on that too!"  


  
Drake pouted, but quailed and looked at the floor. A mere second later, however, he looked back up. "No, no, I _am_. This is all _strategic_ , LP. Right Gos?"  


  
Nodding vehemently, Gosalyn echoed this. "It's strategic! You know, it helps us think, and the more battle plans we can figure out in these games, the more easily we'll be able to think on our feet later."  


  
"Ooh, good one," said Drake quietly. Gosalyn nodded again.  


  
Launchpad sighed, and relented yet again; but in an act of defiance, he only took out ten dollars at the bank.  


  


* * *

  


  
By the time they headed over to Hamburger Hippo for dinner, the remaining quarters totalled about eight dollars; this had more to do with Gosalyn's winning streak, however, than with any restraint on the part of the kids. Launchpad had given up on trying to incite them into a planning stage, and just accepted that it would have to be something he did on his own later that night. Meanwhile, there was a lot of whispering and laughing between them during the meal, and they seemed to have developed a number of private jokes, since every other thing Launchpad said caused minor outbursts of giggles.  


  
By the time Launchpad had made it home and put the kids to bed, it was after nine pm. He slumped onto the couch, feeling more exhausted than he normally did after a much longer night out on patrol with DW. Why would this be so much more tiring than crimefighting?!  


  
...Then again, crimefighting didn't involve trying to keep up with the mood swings of two high-energy kids with sugar buzzes. Although Megavolt sometimes - nah, even _he_ wasn't as taxing as _two_ of 'em.  


  
He sighed and leaned his head onto the back cushions of the couch, then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. The day had been more stressful than he'd thought; he'd been really good at keeping up with the kids back in Duckburg, so what had changed? Was he just getting old? Although the fact that Gosalyn alone had more energy and stubbornness than all three of Mr. McDee's nephews might have been a factor too...  


  
But mostly, it was just the dynamic. The whole feel of them all together was just ... weird. Gos, he could handle; once you got to know her, you could tell when to push and when to just give in and go along with her 'cause you just weren't going to win no matter what you tried. But DW, that was a different matter. It wasn't just that Launchpad didn't know what kind of kid he was, it was that he didn't know how to treat Darkwing Duck like a kid. Darkwing was his friend, his boss, and his idol; you just didn't take on a parenting role with your idol.  


  
And then there was the part that he didn't really want to own up to having noticed, because if it was true, it meant he really was an outsider in the Mallard family no matter what he did. But it sure seemed like... well, like Gos and DW had been avoiding him. Like they'd rather hang out with each other than him.  


  
Maybe it was just because he wasn't really comfortable shifting entirely into the "adult" role, and it was hard for him to accept that both the kids saw hiim as the grown up and were responding to him that way. But, well, why should they think of him that way? They _knew_ him! They were all friends, he wasn't ANYone's dad, so...   


  
He sighed again; the whole thing was kind of knotting up in his head, and he wasn't sure anymore if he'd imagined it, or if DW and Gos really had been trying on purpose to keep him out of their business. He was _probably_ imagining it, since it had been such a long day and he was really stressed out... he still didn't even know how he was going to get them in to beat Quackerjack and get DW back to being a grown up... He didn't even know how he was going to get Gos to school the next morning.   


  
Just the thought made him even more tired. And lurking at the back of his mind, another thought popped in: And lonely, too. Gos and DW were best friends now, and neither one seemed much interested in talking to him; and all at once he realized he really wanted nothing more at that moment than another adult to talk to. Even for five minutes, that would do. He thought about Beth; she'd be perfect.  


  
He lifted his head and looked at the easy chairs, picturing her sitting there, and smiled sleepily. Normally she probably would be here, babysitting Gos; it would be neat if he could take a night off one time and help her, and once Gos went to sleep, they could just stay up and talk. Not have to worry about how much time she spent on the phone, or whether a customer came in, or DW accusing her of being a supervillain... just take a couple of hours to hang out. That'd be nice.  


  
Of course, he realized as he rubbed his eyes, if he _was_ there then she'd have no reason to come in to babysit. She'd probably think it was pretty weird. Oh well... maybe he could come up with a reason anyway... He stretched out on the couch to give it more thought, and fell asleep within thirty seconds of going prone.  


  


* * *

  


  
"Is he asleep?"  


  
"He's snoring." Gosalyn whispered as she stuck her head down the stairs.  


  
Darkwing, buried in his regular-sized costume, whispered back. "You're sure he's not faking?"  


  
"I don't know if Launchpad really knows how to _fake_ being asleep," Gosalyn answered.  


  
"Okay, true," Darkwing said, nodding. "Let's go. _Quietly_."  


  
Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "Dad, you don't have to tell me how to sneak out. Aaaaand I probably am gonna regret saying that later..." She let Darkwing tiptoe past her on the stairs, and then followed closely, her skateboard gripped tightly in both hands. When they hit the landing, Darkwing snuck almost soundlessly over to his sidekick as Launchpad snored on the couch, and pinned a letter to the sleeping duck's jacket. Then he and Gosalyn made a heart-pounding retreat in slow motion.  


  
Once they'd made it out into the night air, they both took a deep breath of relief and looked at one another. "OK, Dad. So now what?"  


  
"Now we hit that twisted toymaker where it hurts!" Darkwing said, his voice an almost-menacing squeak. Gosalyn had to repress a smirk. "Let's head back to his hideout and give him a good buttkicking!"  


  
"Right!" Gosalyn nodded, but after a pause she added, "And you're sure we don't need to take any extra time for... say, tracking him down, figuring out his M.O., or..."  


  
Darkwing stopped and slapped a hand to his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of exasperation. "What is it you guys don't _get_?" he asked, frustrated. "Look, Gos. Quackerjack is a _bad_ guy. I am a _good_ guy. I stop the bad guys, so I'm going to stop Quackerjack. You don't think about HOW you do it, you just DO it! That's how it _works_!"  


  
For a moment, Gosalyn just stared at her father; this incredibly simple world view almost made sense, and a year or two ago she'd likely have echoed it, but as she grew older she was starting to see that sometimes things were not as black-and-white as she had once believed. Before this moment she hadn't realized just how changed her father was as a result of this ray gun; for a few seconds, she contemplated going back inside and waking Launchpad to help them, but she knew exactly how well that would go over with Darkwing, and ruled it out. Child or not, he still had the memories of years' worth of crimefighting and that had to help him; and she would be there as well, so there wasn't that much that could go wrong. But, she realized, he was stubborn enough that she'd have to be subtle in her attempts to steer their actions, or else he'd balk outright.  


  
She nodded sharply. "Gotcha! Let's go!"  


  


* * *

  


  
Although the day had been dry and bordering on hot, the early evening had seen rain showers, and the streets were still wet even though the skies were now clear. The residue from the earlier rain, however, meant that it wasn't easy to stay dry, and the walk turned out to be a lot longer than Gosalyn had expected; Darkwing, despite his earlier assurances of knowing exactly where Quackerjack was hiding, had no actual idea how to get to the warehouse.  


  
"I told you, it's downtown!" he sniped, a whine almost creeping into his voice.  


  
Gosalyn was getting irritated with him, even though she could tell he was just tired. "WHERE downtown? Downtown covers like ten miles!" Give or take; she had no idea, she only knew it was a large area.  


  
Darkwing crossed his arms. "I'll know it when I see it. And if you'd hurry up maybe I'd see it a lot sooner!"  


  
Letting out an exasperated breath, Gosalyn reached for the last of her patience. "Okay, fine, but when you decide you can't walk any farther-"  


  
"Hold it," Darkwing said, his voice dropping. He stopped in his tracks and stared blankly ahead.  


  
"Dad..?" Gosalyn asked, concerned. "Are you o-"  


  
"Sh!" She realized he was listening intently, and when she did the same, she heard a quiet but distinctive bell jingling somewhere in the distance.  


  
She narrowed her eyes. "What IS tha-"  


  
Darkwing, looking gleeful, cut her off again. "ICE CREAM TRUCK!"  


  
"Oh yeah! It's probably Quackerjack!" She could now see it rounding a corner, just behind him, and she started to duck for cover. When he didn't follow, she came back and grabbed his arm. "Dad! C'mon!"  


  
"Whaaaat? I want a Rocket Pop!" he answered, and Gosalyn realized that he was _not_ excited because he'd realized that Quackerjack was the only one who would be out driving a Good Humour truck after 10 pm.  


  
She gaped at him, then gave up and just yanked him into the shadows of a nearby building. The ice cream truck passed merrily by, tinkling as it went, and Darkwing yelped at her as it did.  


  
He glared at her. "We _missed_ it!" he said loudly.  


  
"SHHHH!" she hissed, and the jingling suddenly stopped. They peeked out as far as they dared, just in time to see a beam of light emerge from a window and shoot across the street at a young man who had been walking by. The beam knocked him off his feet as if he'd been hit with a stick.  


  
The door to the ice cream truck opened, and a familiar, oddly-dressed figure stepped out. "Hi, little fella!" Quackerjack sang happily in the direction of the uprooted young man. At the sound of his voice, the fallen man rose to a sitting position; even at a distance, Gosalyn and Darkwing could both see the change.  


  
"Wh-who...? What h-happened?" he asked, just barely audible from their position across the street. Now wide-eyed, the boy cringed back in confusion when Quackerjack held a hand out to him.  


  
"Oh, it's okay little buddy! Uncle Quackerjack just wants to give you a gift!"  


  
At that they saw that the hand he held out wasn't empty; he had an oddly-coloured, unusually large yo-yo dangling from his fingers. He jerked his hand and it began to spin back up, and then down again; on its descent, several small blades came out of its sides and it made a noise like a buzz saw.  


  
The boy's eyes lit up and he took the yoyo - once the blades had retracted - and smiled at Quackerjack as the toyman put a hand on his shoulder and led him across the street, towards his truck. "If you like that, my friend, I've got a whole warehouse of fun for you! By the way, got any cash on you? I also take American Express..."  


  
Within moments the boy was loaded into the back of the truck, the motor was started, and the entire vehicle was tinkling off again.  


  
"Okay," Darkwing whispered, "now we go."  


  
"Absolutely," Gosalyn agreed.  


  
He stopped her briefly. "Do you have any money on you?"  


  
"What?! Look, Dad, we have ice cream at home," she said as they emerged from the side of the building. The ice cream truck was still in sight, but they'd have to act fast if they wanted to stick close to it.  


  
"But I want a-"  


  
"I _know_!" she said angrily, and grabbing his gun from out of his jacket, she took aim at the back of the truck as she stepped onto her skateboard. "Hang onto me, okay?"  


  
"Huh? Oh... right!" he answered, and grabbed onto her shoulders. She fired the gun and the sucker-topped rope launched out and hit its target perfectly, sticking fast. She had just enough time to brace her feet on the board before the rope went taut and they were pulled after the van and into the city.  


  



	7. Act III, Chapter 1

The ice cream truck clearly had no intention of obeying traffic laws, be they speed limits, stoplights, or pedestrian crossings. Quackerjack drove like his foot was glued to the gas pedal, and it took Gosalyn and Darkwing a few moments to adjust themselves to the constant motion without feeling like they were in immediate danger of falling off the skateboard.  


  
"Dad," Gosalyn said, shouting to be heard over the rush of the wind as they went, "can you take over?"  


  
"'Course I can!" he called into her ear, and with some hesitance he pried the gun out of her fingers and took a good grip, still behind her. Then, as Gosalyn handled the balance of the board, he started reeling the line in and gradually reducing the distance between themselves and the truck. When they were within four feet or so, he tried to work his way around Gosalyn to reach the bumper of the truck, without luck. After a pause, he started hauling himself up onto her shoulders.  


  
The skateboard immediately began to wobble as Gosalyn started to squirm. "What are you DOING?!"  


  
"Sorry! Just hang onto this, okay?" He handed the gun back to her and she took it, too startled to complain, as Darkwing stretched his arm to its limit in an effort to grab the truck.  


  
"DAD! That is NOT going to work! OW!" Gosalyn restrained herself from tossing the gas gun aside and pushing him off of her back. Darkwing ignored her, but upon realizing he wasn't going to be able to reach the vehicle ahead of them, he stopped reaching and thought for a second. Then Gosalyn felt him begin to _stand_ on her shoulders. "DARKWING! WHAT-"  


  
"This'll work!" he yelled, and when he was as balanced as he was going to get, he took a flying leap that under normal circumstances would have easily cleared the several-foot gap between them and the truck. As it was, leaping from one moving target to another, he was lucky when his fingers barely grasped the edge of the bumper and saved him from hitting the ground, hard. His hat flew off and smacked Gosalyn in the face, and she managed to catch it just before it flew off into the street behind them. Darkwing looked back at her over his shoulder, and she heard him yell, "Wow, that... that looked a lot different in my head!" Gosalyn rolled her eyes.  


  
With some effort, Darkwing climbed from the bumper to the back handle of the truck. Once he had hold of the handle, he made an obvious effort at turning it - but it didn't budge. Clearly at a loss, he simply hung from the handle for several seconds before his weight suddenly pushed it down and the doors swung open and out. The movement was enough to jar him and he nearly went flying off onto the road.  


  
"Dad!" Gosalyn gasped, and was ready to try to catch him if needed - though she had a feeling they'd both end up with broken limbs, if they were lucky - but he grabbed the door handle with his other hand and managed, with some effort, to pull himself forward and - to her amazement - swing his body into the back of the truck. He lay there panting for a long moment, then finally sat up and looked at Gosalyn. "Okay, c'mon!"  


  
"What?!"  


  
He repeated the invitation, and held his arm out to her. "Reel yourself in on the rope, then I'll pull you on!"  


  
"No offense," she called back, "but you're nuts!"  


  
"It's OKAY, dummy, I'm holding on tight!" he said, and gestured to his other hand which was once more solidly gripping the door handle. "This'll be quicker than what I just went through!"  


  
Gosalyn felt dubious, but she was getting worried about the constant speed of the van - sooner or later, it was going to stop, and if they weren't well-hidden then Quackerjack would find them. And then what? She'd rather not find out. She reeled the line on the gun in and started to reach for his hand, then stopped - what would happen to the skateboard? She bent down and grabbed ahold of the edge of the board, but it started to wobble, and she couldn't see a way to hold onto it, the gas gun, AND Darkwing's hand at the same time. "I don't think I can do it this way!" she called.  


  
Darkwing looked exasperated. "Just come up here! That's an order, young lady!"  


  
"Oh, don't start pulling that with me _now_ -" she began.

  
However, it just happened at that moment that Quackerjack - who had run a number of stoplights, signs, and even narrowly darted over the path of an oncoming train in the course of that evening - decided to stop at a crosswalk. When he jammed on the brakes, Darkwing, Gosalyn, the gas gun and the skateboard all went flying backwards into the ice cream truck. The doors slammed shut after them.  


  
Up in the front, Quackerjack paused at the twin bangs from the back, and he turned down the radio as it played "Good Morning Starshine". "Did you hear something, Mr. Banana Brain?" he asked.  


  
"Did you remember to buckle the ice cream in?" Mr. Banana Brain asked, which was such a funny thing to say that Quackerjack just dissolved into chuckles and turned the radio back up happily.  


  


* * *

  


  
Darkwing and Gosalyn found themselves at the far end of the ice cream truck - which, to Darkwing's unspoken but deeply-felt disappointment, was empty of ice cream - and since the truck had already started moving again without any sign that Quackerjack was about to come check on what was going on in the back, they took a few moments to recover.  


  
Gosalyn sat up first. "Okay. So we're here. Once the truck stops, what do we do?"  


  
Still on his back, Darkwing said, "Why does everyone keep _asking_ me that?! Why do I have to have a PLAN?"  


  
And with that, Gosalyn lost the last shred of her patience, and her temper went with it. "Because you're going to get both of us _killed_ if you don't know what you're doing! I took you out here because you said you had a plan, but your plan so far has just been to do whatever seems most exciting!"  


  
"What, that whole thing with the truck was just for fun, then?" he asked, finally sitting up as well.  


  
"That was MY IDEA!" Gosalyn shouted.  


  
"Well - well, but I got us IN here!"  


  
"Oh yeah, _great_ idea, Darkwing - get us in here, so that once Quackerjack stops driving we'll have absolutely NO place to hide when he decides to unload the truck! I can't wait!"  


  
Darkwing stood up, though he was still only just barely taller than Gosalyn as she sat. He pointed at her, and his voice was trembling. "If you didn't want to come, you should've stayed out there on your skateboard! _I_ sure don't need your help!"  


  
Gosalyn crossed her arms angrily. "Boy, that's the lie of the century!" She turned away. "Fine! I won't help you at all, and you can do whatever you want from here on out!"  


  
"Fine!"  


  
"Good!"  


  
"GOOD!"  


  
There was a moment of silence, and then a small voice said, "Are you guys fighting over your toys?"  


  
They both turned and looked, to find a smattering of young children sitting - three in all - sitting in various places around the back of the vehicle. Each one was holding some kind of bizarre-looking toy, but each was also staring directly at Darkwing and Gosalyn.  


  
"We didn't get any toys," Darkwing explained.  


  
"Oh," said the boy who had spoken, and he went back to his action figure, which appeared to be clinically depressed.  


  
With Gosalyn maintaining a steady silence, Darkwing stood unsteadily for a moment longer and then went to sit next to the boy. "You gonna share yours?"  


  
The boy frowned. "It's mine!"  


  
"That's not FAIR!"  


  
Gosalyn sighed and arranged herself against the farthest wall of the truck, scowling.  


  


* * *

  


  
The first two times that the truck stopped and Quackerjack could be heard to get out of the driver's seat, Gosalyn and Darkwing began to panic and look for a hiding place; however, all that happened each time was that the back doors opened and a new child was escorted into the back, followed by the shutting of the doors and the restarting of the truck's engine.  


  
As a result, both Darkwing and Gosalyn stopped reacting quite so urgently; which, in retrospect, may have been a mistake. By the time that it occured to Darkwing that he could use the stop as an opportunity to get the drop on Quackerjack, it was too late. The next time that the truck came to a slow, rolling halt, Darkwing pulled out his gas gun and knelt dramatically at the door, awaiting its opening.  


  
Unfortunately when the door did open, rather than revealing Quackerjack and a wet street at night it revealed an empty warehouse. Darkwing blinked and his aim faltered. A moment later Quackerjack's voice called out, "Okay little consumers, step on out into your new home!"  


  
Darkwing waited - as did the other children, who were all a bit hesitant about following a disembodied voice just anywhere, even after being coerced into the back of a mysterious vehicle - and when Quackerjack did not visibly appear he let both arms fall to his sides, the gas gun following suit. "Aw, man!" he whispered loudly. Behind him, Gosalyn couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry; it hadn't been exactly the worst plan of all time, and at least he'd come up with one on his own. She started to stand up and approach him so that she could offer her help, but she stopped when Quackerjack called out again.  


  
"Helloooo! Little buddieeees! ...HEY! GET A MOVE ON IN THERE!" Mr. Banana Brain appeared to peek in at them around the edge of the door, and Darkwing's hands flew up again to aim the gas gun before he realized what he was doing. He stopped himself just before firing at the doll.   


  
Mr. Banana Brain, utterly unaware of the fate he had nearly suffered, said, "Well, hi, small fry! C'mon out of there and meet my pals!" Then he disappeared.  


  
As Gosalyn began to move, the small group of children that had by now amassed in the van stood up and rushed to its exit. They pushed past Darkwing, who yelled indignantly, and crowded their way down the small steps that Quackerjack had placed at the back bumper. When they were gone, Gosalyn grabbed Darkwing's shoulder to suggest that they get ready to run, hide, or attack - whatever seemed the best idea; but again they were too late, as Quackerjack now flung the doors open wide. "Soooo, any stragglers or did we get everyone?"  


  
Darkwing moved so quickly to try to aim the gas gun that he fumbled it and almost dropped it. Quackerjack stared at both of the children facing him in the back of the truck, his eyes wide and his face blank, and then he laughed merrily. "Darkwing! You came _back!_ And just in time, too." He took two quick steps up into the back of the truck and plucked the gas gun away from his enemy, then grinned at both children. "Because Playtime's just starting."  


  


* * *

  


  
It was an easy choice, and Quackerjack truly didn't understand why there was a need to think it over. But the two children who were standing in front of him, apart from the other new arrivals, looked at him defiantly and didn't respond.  


  
"Well, think it over," he said casually, the grin never leaving his face. He knew how this would go; the situation was firmly in his control. He lifted the little purple gun that Darkwing liked to shoot off, and examined it casually. "I can't give you this back, of course," he said, "but I have _much_ nicer toys than this one."  


  
"No way," said the red-haired girl. She was loud, and she sounded pretty sure of herself. Quackerjack didn't particularly like her at the moment, though he was sure she'd come around. "We'll never join you!"  


  
"Who's asking you to JOIN anything?" he asked persuasively. "I'm only suggesting that you give Quackerjack Toys a try! It's a no-risk, money-back guarantee! You just hang around here for a few days..."  


  
"And what if we don't?! Do we just walk out of here?"  


  
He stopped, and raised an eyebrow in irritation. "You're not letting me _finish_ ," he said warningly. The girl frowned. "So you hang around here for a few days, and -"  


  
"Do we get to call our families? Does anyone else know where we are?!"  


  
Mr. Banana Brain had to step in. "Clam it, Janet!" he squeaked. Quackerjack turned to him gratefully. "Thanks, Mr. Banana Brain. Sometimes people just _won't_ let you finish without interrupting!" He threw a meaningful look in the girl's direction, and addressed Darkwing.  


  
"Of course you understand why I can't let you go," Quackerjack said, his voice conversational and friendly. "If you go running off, you'll tell all your little friends where my hideout is, the rival companies will find out, then they'll start sneaking around the windows listening for my secrets... Awful, just awful... But after a little while you won't WANT to leave!" He held up a Bitey Teddy and poked its tummy. It growled and bared sharp fangs. "This little guy needs someone to love!"  


  
Darkwing stared at him without expression. Quackerjack stared back. Next to them, the girl crossed her arms and glared; neither the juvenile hero nor his toymaker archenemy took notice.  


  
There was an almost audible snap when Darkwing's will broke, and he grabbed for the teddy bear. "There, you see? I knew you'd make the right choice, little Wingy!"  


  
Pausing from hugging the bear for just the quickest second, Darkwing said, "Don't call me that!"  


  
The girl looked outraged. "DARKWING! I can't believe you!" Darkwing looked deliberately away from her, and began examining the stitching on the bear very closely. Annoyed, she spoke louder. "I know you can hear me! Don't act like you can't! DARKWIIIING!"  


  
Quackerjack stepped between them and put on his best I'm-Great-With-Kids face. "Awww, little lady, calm down! I'm sure I have just the right doll to entertain you for hours..."  


  
"Fat chance, you weirdo! At least _one_ of us isn't gonna sell out just for a creepy TOY!"  


  
Shooting a look back over his shoulder at Darkwing, who was busily ignoring her, Quackerjack turned a sympathetic smile on her when he faced her again. "Don't be too hard on him, really. It's not his fault; it's a design of the ray, that's all. There's a subliminal message to play up a fascination with any kind of toy... Especially ones with _my_ logo on them." He chuckled. "It's a work of genius, really. I mean, sure, I had to have it custom-made, but I designed the whole thing - and the modifications to get it working right were -"  


  
"Wait," the girl interrupted, "subliminal... blah blah blah, but you're saying that your raygun did something wonky to Darkwing's head?"  


  
"Sure did!" Quackerjack nodded eagerly, and turned to face the group of kids who were playing docilely throughout the warehouse. "It took a few tries, but I have to say, whatever it was that Darkwing Dunce did to my gun when he knocked it over it seems to have fixed all the bugs just fine! Or at least..." He turned back once more to the defiant girl, and frowned at her. "At least, I _thought_ it did. I can't understand why YOU don't seem to be interested. And then there's that other side effect..."  


  
"Wh-what side effect..? From WHAT?"  


  
Quackerjack hesitated, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically awkward. "Well, I don't mean to broach any sensitive topics here, but... When the ray hit you, it seems to have - well - last time I saw you, weren't you a bit more... masculine?"  


  
The girl was flabbergasted, and couldn't speak for a moment. When she found her voice again, she said, "I - I - I'm not LAUNCHPAD! I've ALWAYS been a girl, you dweeb! I wasn't even hit with your stupid ray!"  


  
For a moment, she looked like she was about to try to hit _him_ , and so Quackerjack stepped backwards nervously. "Okay, okay, don't wanna hurt anyone little lady... Why don't I introduce you to my newest line of fun, family-friendly products?" He rummaged in a sack and came out with a bright-pink nylon cord and a polka-dotted handkerchief. "It's a little activity set called 'Taking Hostages!'"  


  
The girl backed down immediately, and her eyes shot to just behind Quackerjack. He whirled around, afraid that Darkwing Duck was about to pounce on him, but the annoying little mite was off playing with his Bitey Teddy. When he turned back to the girl, she looked downcast. "Awww, don't frown, little play pal! You can still have a great time today, and we'll figure out this whole mess with the ray soon enough!"  


  


* * *

  


  
At approximately that time, a few miles away, Launchpad woke up from a sound sleep on the couch. Surprised and disoriented, he looked around in confusion before realizing he'd fallen asleep in the living room. Completely unaware of the piece of paper taped to his jacket, he made his way upstairs and collapsed on the bed, fully clothed.


	8. Act III, chapter 2

  


  
Quackerjack had been leaning over a blueprint, scribbling away, for some time. Finally he sat up, took the monocle out of his eye, and laughed. "BRILLIANT! This is going to be the BEST amusement park EVER! The funnest place on the planet! The one thing I can't decide is if the piranha pit should go to the left or the right of the dragon farm..." He frowned at it, then shrugged. "Oh, well! There's still time to figure that out later once the contracts are all filled out and I get the funding secured..."  


  
Behind him, the redheaded girl spoke up. "What contracts?"  


  
"Oh, the contracts that are being printed _as we speak_ so that I can pick them up in the morning!"  


  
The girl rolled her eyes. "Great, _that_ told me nothing at all..."  


  
He approached her, not unkindly. "It's just the final step in the role I need all my little friends to play, so that I can get my business back on its feet again. Once they've signed the contracts, they can go home and get on with their lives, and I'll have regular funding start rolling back in." He smiled happily. "And _this_ time I'm going to expand my empire and really branch out! Quackerjack Industries will _never_ fall on hard times again, and I won't need to rely on bits and bytes and video pixels to cheat MY way to the top! Just a core, solid group of loyal customers, spreading over the nation and eventually the world!"  


  
"A core group of loyal customers... You mean all the people you've turned into kids? How do you expect them to put you on top?"  


  
"Why, the terms of the contract, of course! It's very, very simple. The contract just requires them to do two things, and they can go home and and get back to their families and lives, no strings attached. The first thing they have to do is to leave their credit card numbers, and agree to the low monthly payments of only $200 for the rest of their lives - and THIS term comes with a great added bonus, at the end of each year they'll get a package with one of the latest, greatest new designs of Quackjerjack Toys!"  


  
"For $200 a month they get ONE toy?! Wow, sounds like a _steal_ ," said the girl. He assumed she was genuinely impressed.  


  
"I know, isn't it fabulous? And the only other thing they have to do is bring three of their friends to my warehouse for my special treatment! Then those three will sign the contract, bring three of their own friends, and on and on..." He smiled fondly, looking into the distance. "And someday, not too long in the future, we'll have a world of children! A world of innocence, of wonder, and of a market DOMINATED by me and my toy designs!"  


  
"You're nuts, Quackercreep! You can't possibly get away with this!"  


  
Quackerjack paused, and actually looked hurt. "And here I was about to apologize for mistaking you for the burly sidekick earlier. I _do_ remember you now, but I'm starting to wish I didn't." He gave her a haughty look. "You should LIKE this idea! A world run by kids is the best world of all!"  


  
"A world without video games is a world I don't want a part of!" she shot back, and he found himself so full of fury that he had to restrain a growl.  


  
"You wouldn't say that if you knew just what I have in store for gamers, little girl!" he said menacingly.  


  
The girl gulped loudly as he advanced towards her. Suddenly a figure pushed in between them - a figure bearing a purple cape and mask, and a pint-sized, uncertain frown. "L-leave her alone!" said the miniaturized crimefighter.  


  
Quackerjack snickered. "Oooh, here's someone to make me quiver in my booties... Little Darkwing Junior! Why don't you sit back down and play by yourself, kid."  


  
Darkwing looked nervous, but didn't step aside. Quackerjack's smirk pulled into a broader, smug smile. "Oh, a little defiant, are you? I don't think you want to make _me_ angry, Darkwing. After all..." He pulled out a toy flamethrower and dangled it easily. "You want one of _these_ , don't you?"  


  
There wasn't even any hesitation or internal conflict - Darkwing just grabbed for the toy and returned to his seat in the corner, happily fiddling with his prize.  


  
"HEY!" yelled the girl, clearly outraged. Quackerjack giggled.  


  
"Now where were we?" he asked, then shook his head. "Oh, heck, I can't even concentrate on this right now. I'll think of what I'm going to do with you later - right now I'm going to unwind and go drum up some more customers. You just... enjoy your comfy chair." He left her struggling in the chair she'd been bound to, and let the wheels of the ice cream truck screech sharply as he went in search of more late-night converts.  


  


* * *

  


  
"Gos!"  


  
The whisper was a lot quieter than he'd intended it, and Darkwing winced at how lame he was. Quackerjack had only been gone ten minutes, he wasn't likely to come back any time soon, but his voice still caught in his throat as he tried to get his daughter's attention.  


  
A little louder, he forced out, "GOS!" in a sharp hiss.  


  
She lifted her head, looking relieved. "Darkwing! I was afraid you weren't-"  


  
He put a finger to his bill, trying to shut her up. "I'm gonna untie you, okay?"  


  
"ABSOLUTELY okay!" she whispered enthusiastically.  


  
When he reached her and started poking at the knots, he discovered he wasn't sure how to get through what was there. He refused to admit it, though. "Okay, I should be able to get this taken care of in, uh, a few minutes... Meanwhile, are you okay?"  


  
"Yeah, just tied up. Nothing new," she answered with a sigh. "I thought you were gonna give up on me."  


  
"Who me? NEVER!" he said with a forced laugh.  


  
"You have NO idea how relieved I am that this is all part of your plan!" He could tell from her voice that she trusted him completely; she was more than ready to believe that it was true, that he had the whole thing planned out. He felt a pain in his chest like a knife.  


  
"Uh, right, the plan..." Where was the focal point of the knot? He couldn't tell. He'd been trained to figure this kind of thing out, but now it all looked the same to him. And what if Quackerjack came back before he could figure it out?  


  
Gosalyn went on. "Even _I_ bought it when you just took his stupid toys and ran off. I should've known you were faking it, Dad. I should've had more faith in you." He wished she'd stop talking, and not only because some of the other kids might tell on him if they figured out what he was doing. "I mean, sure, we had a rough start and all but you've _totally_ got it together now! I can even understand why you had to leave me tied up here for so long-"  


  
"Gos - I need to concentrate," he said desperately, just to shut her up.  


  
"Oh - right. No problem." She dutifully went silent, and he picked a loop in the knot at random and started tugging at it with shaking hands, trying to shove a finger into it to loosen it. Was he imagining it or did it go even tighter..? Less than a minute went by before Gosalyn asked, "Dad, just in case Quackerjerk gets back before we can get out of here, tell me what you're planning so that we can work together if we have to, okay?"  


  
He didn't respond. In fact, when she said that, he felt so much like crying that he found himself ragingly angry and he just started jerking at the knots even more.  


  
"Dad..?"  


  
"LEAVE ME ALONE about the _plans_ already!" he snapped at last. "I'm getting you out of here, isn't that enough?!"  


  
She was silent for a second, then she said, "You don't actually have a plan." It wasn't a question in the slightest.  


  
"So what?" he asked defensively, knowing completely well what. "So what if I don't have a plan? So what if I'm a complete failure? So what if I can't do anything right, even the things I _know_ how to do, so WHAT?" Amazingly, when he said that last word, the tug he gave to the knot actually resulted in a little give instead of a tightening. He barely noticed. "So what if my life is falling apart and I can't do the only thing I'm _good_ at anymore because I'm too STUPID and LITTLE to figure anything out? Huh? Who cares!"  


  
Gosalyn tried to twist around in her chair to face him, but it made the knot tighten again, and she couldn't do more than crane her head. "Darking, _none_ of that is true! I mean - you're not _stupid_ , anyway-"  


  
"Yes I am. I remember being smarter than this, Gos. I _remember_ knowing what to do! This used to be so _easy_ , I could do it in my sleep, but now when I try all I want to do is run away! But everyone expects me to have a plan and save the day, so I have to come up with something..."  


  
"Like beating Quackerjack up?" she asked sympathetically.  


  
"What else can I do? I don't even know how to stop him! Two days ago I could've done something really clever and amazing, and now I'm all empty threats, and I'm- I'm..." He trailed off, because he'd just realized he was crying, and he felt like an idiot. Gosalyn probably couldn't see him from this angle, right? He hoped not, anyway...  


  
She sighed. "You're what? You're not thinking things through?"  


  
"I'm _scared_ ," he said in a tiny voice. He wished his mother was nearby. It had been too long since he'd been hugged by his mother, he realized. He found the loose spot in the knot again, and tugged half-heartedly, managing to worm a bit more of it through. "Everybody needs me to be the big hero and make all the decisions, and when I can't, you all look at me like I'm worthless."  


  
Gosalyn shook her head. "Why didn't you ask for help then?"  


  
"I'm not _supposed_ to need help," he said wetly. "If I'd asked you for help, you and Launchpad would've thought I was an even bigger loser."  


  
"Dad, that is so _lame_ ," Gosalyn said bluntly, but her voice was tender. She tugged in the right way, and one arm came almost entirely loose of the bindings. "Awesome, you're doing it! See, you're not a loser!"  


  
"Really?"  


  
"Not everyone can untie big supervillain knots, you know, Dad. I bet Launchpad wouldn't be able to."  


  
He felt slightly better. "I don't even know what I'm doing," he admitted softly. The biggest knot gave and he started in on the second largest.  


  
As he did, Gosalyn was able to pull her arm out the rest of the way, and she immediately scratched her bill. "Oh, man, I've been needing to do that for the past hour, seriously." She smiled over her shoulder. "Well, it looks like you don't have to KNOW what you're doing to be able to do it. So everything you know is still IN there, it's just not coming through as easily. But you can still do it. That's something, right?"  


  
"I guess..." He DID want to believe that. But what if he was wrong?  


  
The second knot loosened, and Gosalyn was able to push the bindings around her chest away and start to wriggle out of them. "If we work together," she said as she pushed all the binds away, "I bet we can beat Quackerjack up after all. There's no WAY he can stop us both, right?"  


  
Darkwing smiled. "Right... Yeah! Right!" Then his face fell. "Oh man. Oh, RATS."  


  
"What?"  


  
"He's gonna know," he said, despair creeping over him. "He's gonna see you're free and he's gonna KNOW it was me!"  


  
Gosalyn gave him a look of disbelief. "And...?"  


  
"And he's gonna take away my TOYS!"  


  
"Oh for crying out..." Gosalyn slapped her hand to her forehead, grimacing.  


  


* * *

  


  
Quackerjack had nearly worked out his plan for the rest of this caper. At first, he'd thought maybe there was a way to use the ray on the girl again without making her a whole lot younger, so that she'd get the subliminal conditioning and buy into his toys, too. Maybe he could shrink her down to two or three - that way, even if the conditioning didn't take, she couldn't cause him any problems.  


  
But he realized he didn't have a way to set for a particular age range. Most of his customers so far had been, on average, around 30 or so and they were consistently losing about 20-25 years. He didn't know if the ray was set to a specific age, or a specific number of years removed, but he had no idea what would happen to the girl if he took 20 years off a ten year old. The idea was interesting, but... potentially messy (or it might not answer any questions at all, if she just disappeared) so he decided to find an alternative.  


  
He'd decided hypnosis was the way to go. Two or three good, long sessions with the spinny spiral thing and a good droning repetition and she'd be putty in his hands, and he'd have nothing to worry about. He was mostly satisfied with this as a solution, until it occurred to him that hypnotizing her wouldn't benefit him in any way in any case. She didn't have any money! He was pretty sure she didn't have a credit card, in any case, and probably any contract she signed wouldn't be considered legally binding.  


  
By the time he was nearing his hideout, he'd struck the perfect solution. He needed a good workforce to keep up with the supply and demand that was going to be generated, and an enthusiastic, energetic employee with her finger on the pulse of what kids like - that was just the thing! She'd be the first of many, and what a great job was ahead of her! Assembling toys, marketing... plus he could offer great benefits. This was the way to go, for certain!  


  
He pulled into the warehouse and escorted the newest batch of kids out, with a bit less ceremony this time than before; it _was_ getting late, after all, and he'd been at this for several hours now. When he'd ushered them off to entertain themselves with their newest acquisitions, however, he turned back and finally consciously recognized the thing that had been niggling at the back of his mind since he'd returned.  


  
The girl.  


  
She was gone.  


  
Mr. Banana Brain sat up and looked too, just in case Quackerjack's eyes were deceiving him. "Mr. Banana Brain," Quackerjack asked politely, "are you seeing what I'm seeing?"  


  
"I can't be," Mr. Banana Brain answered, "because what I see is _nothing_."  


  
"Then," Quackerjack answered logically, "you and I are _not_ seeing the same thing." He clenched his fist, forgetting Mr. Banana Brain was there, and frowned. " _Darkwing..._ "  


  
He had very little to worry about, of course - but regardless, he set off for his line of family-fun high artillery guns just as a precaution. Halfway to his storeroom, the lights went out. Most of the children screamed - and a few howled, which brought a grin to his face - but Quackerjack didn't let it deter him. What was a little bit of dark supposed to do to him?  


  
He swung the door to his storeroom open and started in, but stopped just before crossing the threshold. If HE was ambushing someone, this would be right about where he'd dump a bucket of water or sulfuric acid or something on them...! He looked up - no buckets over the doorway... Maybe it was okay-  


  
A net fell at his feet, and a child cursed when it missed him. Quackerjack laughed. "Such language! You need your mouth washed out with soap, Darkwing!" he said with a giggle, and he somersaulted into the storeroom in the direction the voice had come from.  


  
A small figure was there, and he collided with it, shoving it into the corner of the room. Quackerjack stood and found the cord hanging from the lamp in the center of the room, and he pulled it and lit the room to reveal Darkwing, off-balance in the corner, rubbing his head. "Found one! And two can't be far behind!"  


  
He turned, just in time to be beaned in the bill with a punching glove. It knocked him off-balance, and he fell into a shelving unit and knocked several items to the ground. The girl retracted the extendable arm with the glove, and said, "Tag! You're it, Quackerjack!"  


  
Although he was knocked just a tiny bit senseless, Quackerjack began to laugh anyway. "Oh, this is just TOO much fun! I love to see kids enjoying the fruits of my labours!" he said, standing and picking up two of the nearest toys. Both were replicas of Mr. Banana Brain. He fiddled with the back of one, then tossed it close to the girl. She looked at it suspiciously, then at Quackerjack, and didn't move. Of course, she didn't have to...  


  
"GOS! It's a bomb, run!" yelled Darkwing. The girl's eyes went wide and she backed away, but not in time to completely escape the force of the explosion that made the walls rattle and toys fall from their shelves and onto her. She was buried.  


  
Quackerjack turned a disapproving glare onto Darkwing. "Young man," he said sternly, "am I to understand that you've broken our deal?"  


  
Darkwing looked desperate; he stared at the pile of toys covering the girl, he shook with helplessness, and then he hung his head. "It was her idea," he said quietly.  


  
"You don't have to go along with every idea that comes along, do you?"  


  
"No... Guess not..."  


  
"Well, you know what this means. NO TOYS for at least an hour!"  


  
He looked stricken. "Nooooo! Please, I'll do anything!"  


  
"Anything...?" Quackerjack grinned cunningly. "Like tie your little playmate back up and leave her where none of us have to worry about her?"  


  
Darkwing gulped his eyes wide, and there was a long pause. Then he nodded, and looked at his feet.  


  
"Well then, that's a different story! You just take care of that, and I'll go pick out a _special_ toy, just for-" Quackerjack turned midsentence, and found himself face-to-face with a large plastic bendy-baseball bat. A split second later, the bat was making contact with his bill, and it wasn't being gentle. He went flying into the last set of shelves that hadn't been upset yet.  


  
The duck behind the bat didn't yet follow-up while Quackerjack was still confused. He shot a glance first at Darkwing. "You okay, DW? Where's Gos?"  


  
Darkwing pointed at the pile of toys, which was moving as if the toys were bubbling like lava. The tall pilot-sidekick steppe over to the pile and fished around in it, then came up with the girl. "Gos? Anything broken?"  


  
Slightly woozy, the girl answered him. "Nah... but man, am I glad he didn't grab the Junior Tasers he left lying around..."  


  
"Launchpad!" called Darkwing, as Quackerjack started to get to his feet. Launchpad stepped ahead of the crimefighter as well, blocking both of the kids from the toymaker as he rose.  


  
"Harv," Quackerjack said bitterly, "how COULD you?!"  


  
Launchpad was just surprised enough by this to not react right away when Gosalyn made a run past him, out of the storeroom. "Gos! Wait!" he called after her, but Quackerjack leapt forward, flipped, and kicked Launchpad in the chest coming down. Darkwing scuttled out from behind him just before Launchpad fell onto him.  


  
"Both of you boys are in VERY big trouble!" Quackerjack said chidingly, glaring furiously at them both. "Harv, I'm afraid once I've gotten you all adjusted to the age limits we have here, you're going to have to spend some time on your own without toys to make up for this. And as for YOU, Darkwing..."  


  
"Y-you don't scare me," Darkwing said unconvincingly as he backed towards a corner. "I-I can still beat you up without even trying, Quackerjerk!"  


  
"You were my guinea pig before, Darkwing," said Quackerjack softly. "Maybe it's time we find out just what happens if you get hit with my ray gun _more_ than once."  


  
"OR," said a girl's voice from the doorway, "we can just see how well it works on YOU!"  


  
Quackerjack looked to find the red-haired girl aiming his ray-gun with perfect marksmanship. "WAIT-" he managed, before a laser beam shot out of it and knocked him over.  


  
"Got him," Gosalyn said triumphantly. She looked at Darkwing and Launchpad, both of whom were cringing. "Oh come on, give me a break, you big babies. Like I was gonna hit you. You both know I have the best aim of anyone in St. Canard!"  


  
Darkwing was silent, and from his face it seemed he was deep in thought. Launchpad and Gosalyn shared a glance, then turned to him to allow him the chance to give guidance. "Okay, DW," Launchpad said cheerfully, "we beat the bad guy an' we've got a warehouse full of people turned into kids with no idea how to fix 'em. Now what?"  


  
Darkwing nodded, still thoughtful. After a while he looked up, nodded again, and said, "NOW we can take ALL the toys!"  


  
"I give up," said Gosalyn in disgust.  


  
  



	9. Act III, Chapter 3

  


  


  
The next morning, at SHUSH Central, Darkwing was nervous and hoping it didn't show. He paced the room, waiting for Dr. Bellum to return with some kind of good news, while Launchpad sat patiently in the corner.  


  
"How long have we been here, LP?" he asked petulantly.  


  
"Uh, about three and a half hours, I guess," Launchpad answered.  


  
"That's HALF the entire DAY!" Darkwing wailed melodramatically. "What's taking so long? She should just come in and say they're going to fix me, and then fix me, so I can get OUT of here!"  


  
"Relax, DW. Gos doesn't get out of school for another four hours, so we got some time." Launchpad grinned. "At least I _got_ her to school today."  


  
"Who cares about school?" Darkwing snapped irritably. "This is my LIFE we're talking about here!"  


  
"Aw, I'm sure Dr. Bellum won't be much longer. And she did say they had a lotta testing to do before they could turn you an' the other people back into adults."  


  
Darkwing frowned. "All this testing can only mean they don't know what they're doing. Why don't we just ask Quackerjack?"  


  
Launchpad chuckled. "Well, uh, they said he's not talkin'. All he wants to do is play with toys. They said he seems real happy, though!"  


  
"Great." Darkwing plopped into a chair in the corner. "It's great that everyone except me is enjoying themselves. No, really."  


  
"That's not true, DW. A lotta those folks just wanna go back to their families an' stuff! They're just as impatient as you."  


  
Darkwing crossed his arms and tried to pretend he wasn't about to cry. "I'm a lot more important though," he grumbled.  


  
Just then the door opened, and Sarah Bellum walked in. "Good news, Darkwing! We're ready to try the age-enhacing procedure!"  


  
"FINALLY!" He hopped down from his chair, landing on his cape and tripping himself in the process, but did his best to recover and hoped Bellum hadn't noticed. "So what do we do, flip a switch, fire a gun? Do I have to swallow something? Oooh, could you put a little pill in some ice cream?" he asked hopefully.  


  
"Just follow me," Dr. Bellum said cheerfully, and she beckoned him to follow as she left the room. Darkwing and Launchpad dutifully got up and followed her down the hall, and she resumed the conversation. "We have a chamber set up. All you have to do is pop on in there, we'll throw the switch, and then everything's back to normal!" She led them into a room with a big, black box at the far end. The box had a door with a darkened window set in it.  


  
To Darkwing, it looked positively haunted.  


  
"Launchpad," he said in a desperate whisper, "I don't want to go in there." He clutched at his sidekick's sleeve and refused to go any further.  


  
Bellum smiled cheerfully. "Well, I'm sure we could always just whip up some kind of synthetic formula to inject you with that would probably have a similar result! Might have side effects though..."  


  
Darkwing's hand tightened on Launchpad's sleeve, and he felt himself ducking behind his sidekick shyly. "A _shot_?" he whimpered. "N-no!"  


  
"Then you're gonna have to go in there, DW," said Launchpad kindly. He tried to coax the boy out from behind him, but got nowhere. "Aw, Dr. Bellum wouldn't say it was gonna work if she wasn't sure, right?"  


  
Dr. Bellum made a funny noise in the back of her throat that might have been a cough, and looked at the ceiling, still smiling cheerfully.  


  
"See?" said Launchpad.  


  
Darkwing shook his head. "I don't WANT to go in there! YOU do it!"  


  
"Uh, that's not gonna work..."  


  
"NO! Look - how about - how about I just grow up the normal way?" he asked, suddenly feeling rational. This was the _perfect_ solution. "I'll come out of it even smarter than before! And I already know _so_ much about everything that I won't even have to go to school! Plus it'll mean that St. Canard is pretty much set for its defendor for the next fifty years or so..."  


  
"Well actually, Darkwing, it's funny you should say that," said Bellum, standing in a matter-of-fact position with her hands behind her back. "Actually, our tests showed that your cells are essentially frozen right where they are - there's no growth, no death, no development. In other words, you're _never_ going to grow up."  


  
Darkwing felt himself going pale. "Wha..?"  


  
"You'll be just like this for the rest of your life - possibly forever, we're not really sure of that part yet, though really I'd just _love_ to get the chance to open you up and see what happens when-" She cut herself off and smiled warmly when she noticed the boy cringing away from her. "Oh, never mind that now. But if you _do_ feel like contributing to the advancement of science, young man, you just let me know." She winked.  


  
Darkwing gulped. "I-I'll go in the box," he said.  


  


* * *

  


  
It felt - weird. That was the only way he could describe it. He didn't remember how the transition from adult to child had felt when he'd been hit with the ray gun, but this was just an odd feeling of stretching and expanding; thanks to the dark confines of the box, he had no concept of proportions or how much bigger he became. It was subtle, but limitless all at once.  


  
Then the door opened with a pneumatic hiss, and when he stepped out, he was himself again.  


  
"Oh good!" said Bellum, without a trace of relief in her voice. "I'm so glad you didn't explode like the first test subjects."  


  
Darkwing froze in shock and stared at her.  


  
"Oh, no, not people. We used plants and single-celled animal life for the first test runs, until they stopped combusting. Then we worked up to lab mice and things, and that went just fine. But," she said casually, "you _were_ the first actual person we tried it on, and well, you just never do KNOW how something will affect a species until you try, do you? Hahaha."  


  
"Never do," Darkwing agreed faintly, as Bellum instructed him on where to submit the paperwork he now had to fill out, and then she left the room.  


  
It took him a half an hour to get through all of the forms, which drove him crazy since it hadn't even been a SHUSH-related case; but at least they'd done what he'd needed them to do. Launchpad did a lot of the actual filling-out of the forms while Darkwing reflected on the whole experience and what he'd learned from it - which admittedly wasn't a whole lot, except that he'd really hated his childhood.  


  
When they were finally finished, Darkwing made a beeline for the door, and Launchpad followed, waving goodbye to the SHUSH employees in the lobby as they passed through. "Glad everything seems to have worked out okay, DW."  


  
"Absolutely." Darkwing stopped and examined his face in the mirrored surface of the exterior windows. Had he always had those little lines around his eyes..? Oh well, worrying about them wouldn't make them go away... He straightened up. "Look, uh... thanks for taking care of so many things the past couple of days. I... I owe you one." More than one, really, but he hated to admit to that.  


  
"Aw, don't worry about it, DW! That's what sidekicks are for." Good old Launchpad - not everyone would just write off the past couple of days as "part of the job".  


  
They headed to the Ratcatcher, and Darkwing asked with a sort of airy casualness, "By the way, LP, you did call and cancel that Webfoot woman for tonight too, right?"  


  
"Oh - yeah..." Launchpad felt as awkward as he sounded, because he hadn't enjoyed making that call. It made sense - DW planned on staying in that evening and taking it easy with Gos, just watching a movie or something like that - but he'd had a feeling that Beth wouldn't react very well to two cancellations in a row, and he'd been right. She'd already been having a hard time with Henny, and he'd had to deliberately reassure her that she wouldn't be cancelled a third time. She'd seemed awfully stressed out... Much more than usual.  


  
Launchpad was still reflecting on this when Darkwing tapped him on the shoulder. "If you'll hand me the keys," he said formally, "I'll drive us back to the Tower."  


  
Launchpad hadn't realized he was so lost in thought. He shook himself out of it. "So - you didn't still wanna fire Beth, though, didja?"  


  
Darkwing gave him a surprised look. "Weren't we done talking about her a few minutes back?" Launchpad shrugged sheepishly, and Darkwing looked at him uncertainly, then shrugged in return. "Eh, no. Most of what I said in that miserably minimized state had little to no basis in logic, LP."  


  
"Oh, good."  


  
"After all, if we fired her, we wouldn't be able to keep track of whether she's a supervi-" He paused, then continued awkwardly, "-iiiiillain, which of course she's NOT, but what I meant was that it might be enough to push her over the _edge_ and I'd prefer not to fire her unless we know she's stable enough to handle the rejection."  


  
Launchpad frowned, but he couldn't really argue, since there wasn't _quite_ enough there to be overtly accusatory towards Beth. Not yet, anyway. When Darkwing started up the Ratcatcher and they took off down the street, Launchpad used the opportunity to consider the situation for a few moments longer, then he took a breath and tried a second time to have a conversation he'd attempted once before.  


  
"So, uh, look DW," he began rationally, "let's assume we'll find out she's NOT gonna be a supervillain, and if that's the case..."  


  
"Uh-huh..." Darkwing said warily.  


  
"Well, in that case, if you were to sorta start things over and look at her objectively..."  


  
"This had better not be going where I think it's going."  


  
That gave Launchpad pause, but then he told himself that maybe DW didn't think it was going where it _was_ going, so he'd just have to try it and see. He finished, "Well, I'm just wondering, if anything were to ever happen to split up you an' Morgana-"  


  
Darkwing actually brought the Ratcatcher to a screeching halt, coming to rest on a sidewalk that fortunately had no actual pedestrians on it. Speaking matter-of-factly but forcefully, the crimefighter turned in his seat, pointed a finger, and said, "Here is the end of this discussion, alright? Whether I am in a relationship with Morgana or not, whether she is a supervillain or not, whether she is actually the Queen of Sheba, the answer is NO. Are we clear?"  


  
Launchpad felt himself cringing, ever so slightly. "...Okay."  


  
"Okay." Darkwing seemed satisfied, and he revved the engine back up and took off again.  


  
Meanwhile, in the side car, Launchpad felt unaccountably let down, as if it was his fault. Well, in a way it was - he should never have promised Beth that he'd ask about this. Now what was he going to tell her? She seemed to have enough to worry about already.  


  


* * *

  


  
It was the end of a long day. Well, of course technically it was only about 4 pm, but still, the end of the work day was approaching. And none too soon, as far as Beth was concerned.  


  
She wasn't sure why Henny was able to bother her so much the past few days. She couldn't have _really_ been that much worse than usual, right? Henny was always bossy, and Beth knew not to take it personally. Which wasn't to say that she _didn't_ take it personally, precisely, only that she knew she shouldn't. But it had been a while since Henny had actually pushed Beth to the point of tears; just now she'd had to duck into the back on the pretense of finding some order form to keep from losing her composure on the sales floor.  


  
Maybe Launchpad had been right when he'd suggested earlier that she should find a new job. But that was such a headache, and who knew if she could find a job that was better than this one? Still, though... Some days she felt like if she stayed at Bindler's, she was going to have an emotional breakdown.  


  
With her hand clutching the order form she'd claimed to need, she took a deep breath and prepared to go back out onto the main floor of the store for the remaining five minutes of her shift. Through the closed door separating the office from the store front, she could hear Henny working on the register - from the sound of it she was counting down the cash drawer to make sure it balanced, which was supposed to be standard procedure, but Henny only did it about once a week.  


  
"BEEEETH," Henny called, and Beth felt a chill go down her spine before she was even certain why. By the time she was halfway through the door, though, she knew why; Henny had found the IOU. She should have seen it before now because she had closed the night before, and the closer was _always_ supposed to count down the register, which meant that Henny hadn't bothered to make a deposit that night either - but that was beside the point. The point was that Henny had found the IOU, was in fact dangling it pinched between two fingernails as if it was impaled on them, and she looked infuriated.  


  
" _What_ is this?" she demanded.  


  
Beth swallowed. "I-it's, okay - um, you know yesterday when you asked..." She paused; the look Henny was giving her was beyond deprecating, and with a flash of anger she wondered why she was bothering to explain herself, because Henny had clearly made her mind up already. But she had no alternative, so she quashed the anger and started again. "Wh-when you asked for a soda and neither of us had any m-money, um, you s-said to take it from the register, so - so I made that f-for you, so that you'd - um, you know - r-remember to p-pay it b-back...?"  


  
Henny gave a long, drawn-out sigh, and put the IOU down onto the front counter. She stared at it, her eyes narrowed, then she sighed again. "What is this supposed to _be_ , anyway?" she asked.  


  
"I-" The question made Beth's head hurt - or at least that was how she interpreted the sudden hot feeling that seemed to fill it. "I-I just got through _telling_ y-"  


  
"I know what you _said_ ," Henny interrupted, "I'm asking what this whole THING is supposed to be. What made you think it was okay to leave little notes to humiliate me, anyway? What's next, you gonna put up a sign in the bathroom that says 'flush'? Or maybe a sign on the phone that says 'talk into me'?"  


  
"Or maybe 'five minutes only,'" Beth muttered to the floor. Henny heard her.  


  
"Ex _cuse_ me?!"  


  
Beth winced and wished she hadn't said anything. She had no way to explain that.  


  
But fortunately - well, probably anyway - Henny didn't ask for an explanation, nor did she wait for one. "So you think you need to tell me how to do my job, now, huh?"  


  
"No..."  


  
"Well that's what this is." There was a *tap-tap* as she poked the IOU with her fingernail. "This is somebody who thinks that _I_ don't know how to do my job, thinkin' they have a better way to run the place here, that's what _this_ is. Listen girlie, _I_ run this store. And you don't tell _me_ what to do."  


  
Beth pressed her bill together into a tight line and said nothing. Her head and eyes and throat were all burning.  


  
"Well? Got anything else?" When she got no answer, Henny took a step closer to Beth and put a hand solidly onto the counter. "C'mon Beth, I'm waiting. I'd love ta know why you felt like YOU had to teach ME here... An' why you're too good for the rules all of a sudden."  


  
Realizing that Henny wasn't going to leave her alone, Beth was overcome with a need to flee. She _had_ to get out of there. But even if she did she'd just have to come back. Why was this happening? She'd always done everything right! She thought of what Launchpad had said... She shouldn't let Henny talk to her this way, and maybe if she just said something _nicely_...   


  
Summoning every ounce of respect and diplomacy that she felt she could gather under the circumstances, Beth began, "Um, um, well... Henny, okay, I-I'm sorry you feel like I... was trying to teach you something, I really _wasn't_ , I just thought... I thought i-it might be useful? B-but I guess not, but... Well, look, the rules right now are really, um, rigid and - w-well, I-I just thought, maybe if we thought more about... about our p-partnership here, and worked together a l-little more as equals, we might be-"  


  
She stopped abruptly when Henny snorted derisively.  


  
"Oh-kay. 'Partnership'? 'Equals'? I got news for you, Miss Beth, an' that is this: we are NOT equals. We are not co-managers of this store. _I_ am the Manager. Okay? YOU are not the Manager, or the Co-Manager, or the Assistant Manager. Okay? YOU-" she jabbed a fingernail in Beth's direction, and Beth took an immediate, unwilling step backwards - "are a Full-Time Employee. That's all. You get keys 'cause you're the only other full-timer, not because you're in charge. Okay?"  


  
Beth hated the way she said "Okay" at the end of these sentences. It was inappropriately peppy, like she was explaining something unimportant to a third grader. At the last "Okay", Beth nodded as she looked at the floor, just to get it over with. She clenched her jaw and waited, praying that Henny would dismiss this conversation. The hot tightness in her head continued to throb, and she had to get away before she exploded.  


  
But Henny wasn't done. "Don't think I don't know you're after my job," she said viciously.  


  
Beth's head snapped up, her face asking a question before she even spoke. Henny nodded. "OH yeah. I can see it, I'm not stupid and I'm not new to retail. I know how this game works. I don't know exactly _what_ you're telling Corporate, sweetie, but they've already been warned _not_ to listen to anything _you_ have to say. You are not gonna get me fired, and you're _definitely_ not pushin' me out of the running for that promotion."  


  
So that was it. Henny had gotten it into her head somehow that Beth was working against her, and she'd been pushing at her to provoke a confrontation so that she could step up and reassert dominance. Beth got it, but she had no idea what to do about it; she felt squeezed flat and too confused to think straight, and once again she felt a flare of anger. All she could think was, _Why?_  


  
"I-I don't want your job," she tried, putting a hand to her forehead as the tightness in her head increased.  


  
Henny snorted again. "Oh sure. We're just _best_ buddies, I'm supposed think that, huh? But listen, Beth," and here she put on a smile that could only be described as cruel, "if you play your cards right, when I get that promotion, I'll put in a good word for ya. Sound nice?" Beth didn't answer, so Henny answered for her. "Sure it does, right? Maybe not as nice as a corner office, but hey, you just never had that one in the bag."  


  
"Stop it," Beth said softly. Her words seemed to hit the floor and lie there.  


  
"Oh, get over it," Henny said mockingly. "I'm not _firing_ you. You do okay here, Beth, this isn't about your _current_ job. You just gotta understand who's boss-"  


  
" _Stop_ it," said Beth, and when Henny kept talking, she said it again, louder, and then she was yelling it. "STOP IT! STOP TALKING TO ME THIS WAY!"  


  
Henny did stop, with her mouth hanging open. Beth did not; by this point, she wasn't sure she could have if she'd wanted to. This had only happened a few times in her life - the very few times when she'd been pushed beyond her breaking point, to the place where she had no control over her temper or her emotions. She recognized it now, or the part of her that was still actually _thinking_ did, from the way her head was rushing and her words were coming out without forethought. And more than anything, she was relieved.  


  
"How _can_ you talk to me like this?!" she said, trembling. Henny recovered from her surprise, and her expression twisted into a smirk; Beth's blood boiled even more at the sight. "How can you say these things to me? And look at me with that - that _horrible_ expression on your _horrible_ face! What kind of human being _are_ you?!"  


  
The smirk disappeared, and Henny sniffed. "Well, _you've_ got a lotta nerve-" she started, but got no further, because Beth started to laugh.  


  
"No, don't you _dare_ ," she said, still laughing at the same time; she put a hand to her forehead as if she felt dizzy, but she waved the other in Henny's direction accusingly. "I do everything you ask me to - _everything!_ \- and now you're telling me that you'll deliberately make sure I never go anywhere in this company unless I do _more_? I let you walk all over me just because I hope it'll keep you happy and instead you come up with stupid rules that don't make any sense, just to _pick_ on me! Why? WHY? What did I _do_ to you?!"  


  
This was apparently not what Henny had expected out of her planned confrontation, and she obviously didn't know how to respond. She crossed her arms and frowned, looking off towards the front door with an exasperated expression. "Well - I mean - oh, what _ever_ ," she finally said. "You totally _would_ take this all out of proportion..."  


  
"What was I supposed to do? Cry, beg for forgiveness? Tell you how right and how brilliant you are and how much deep down I want to be like you? I'd _hate_ to be like you!! I can't sleep some nights because of things you say to me, and I don't know how you can live with being that kind of person! How can you like yourself? How can you _want_ to make other people so unhappy?"  


  
"Sh-shut up!" Henny retorted, losing her facade of disinterest. "You don't have the first idea-"  


  
"I DON'T WANT YOUR JOB!" Beth yelled at last, "I _hate_ this place - I hate working here - I hate who I _am_ when I'm here! I-I don't even know why I've stayed here this long!" She stopped, and considered that, her gaze beginning to focus inward. "What have I been _doing_? I have a _Master's degree_ in biology! And I'm working 42 hours a week selling _hardware_!"  


  
Henny apparently disliked the implication; she said scathingly, "Oh, so a _degree_ is supposed to mean you're entitled to a better life than me?"  


  
Beth ignored her now. "Launchpad was right," she said to herself. She shook her head and began pacing, still holding a hand to her forehead. "I'm _better_ than this. I studied for years and I'm wasting it. I should never have let you treat me like this - but I asked for it - I should have left here so _long_ ago..."  


  
"HEY!" Henny was now more annoyed at being ignored than she was by what was being said. Now that she'd actually thought up some responses to the things Beth had thrown at her, she had no way to get them out.  


  
Still pacing, Beth showed no sign of hearing. "It's not too late, is it? I'm only 25... I can still start over if I..." She stopped decisively, and lifted her head to address Henny directly. "This is all wrong for me. I-I'm leaving."  


  
"What?" Henny was flummoxed, and it took her a moment to figure out what was going on. When she realized Beth was actually on her way out the door, she said, "Wait! Where do you think you're goin'? Beth! BETH! If you think you can just walk out of here and then-" With that, Beth was out the door and, a moment later, gone. Henny blinked angrily. "Can you _believe_ that?!" she said to herself shrilly. "Where does she get off - Miss College-Educated, mouthy, always so holier-than-thou-"   


  
The bell jingled over the door, and Henny looked up to see Beth returning. With a deep sense of relief, she sprang forward over the front counter accusingly. "Oh if you think you can walk out of here like that and then just WALK back in and get your job back-"  


  
"Oh no," said Beth, digging in her pockets, "I just still have the keys. Sorry-" She pulled out her lanyard with the store keys and set them quietly onto the counter, then looked at Henny expressionlessly for a moment. Then she grinned nervously and sort of shrugged. "So - I quit. Um... bye."  


  
She turned around again. Henny scrambled for something to say before she was out the door. "WAIT! I mean - look - I'm like, THIS close to getting promoted. What am I supposed to do then, huh? You think I can just hire someone real quick and get all the training done? I mean -" Beth stopped, and half-turned back; she was looking at the ground, but Henny thought she was really listening. "I- We _could_ make this a partnership, y'know. Like you said. I just needed to know if you were serious or not, Beth. I need serious people on staff here."  


  
Beth cocked her head and swept her hair off her forehead, an action Henny had never seen her take before. "Listen, corporate has even said a couple of times that this store _could_ have an Assistant Manager, if we wanted one." Still looking down, Beth turned all the way back to the desk; she was apparently examining her feet. Henny added, "So... whatcha think? Can we work out a deal here?"  


  
It was a moment before Beth answered. When she finally looked up, her eyes were oddly flat. In a low voice she said, "I need to get out of here or it's going to destroy me. And you - you're not a people person. You're... you're a _jerk_." Then she shrugged again, and turning swiftly, blazed for the door.  


  
"You can't quit!" Henny shrieked as Beth swept out of the store. "You're FIRED!"  


  
But the door had already closed, and Henny didn't know if Beth had heard her or not. And if she hadn't heard, then it was meaningless.  


  


* * *

  


  
Launchpad had something he was supposed to be buying; he was sure of that. He was also sure that he'd known what that something was when he'd left the house, and he was _dead_ certain that he'd brought a list with him to the grocery store. But now the pocket that he'd put the list in was deeper than it had any right to be, and besides, the back of the grocery store kept changing. He had never known the local Shopper's Food Paradise to have a car section at the back, but here one was now. And as a matter of fact, he was lost in it; he couldn't see any sign of the actual food part of the store anymore.  


  
This was not good; DW was going to be furious. Now he'd never manage to pick up whatever it was he'd come to get - even if he could remember it. (Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he was utterly certain of what it was. It was like some part of his brain was yelling at the rest of him to remember, it was _"blank"_ , but whatever he tried that _blank_ never got out of the way.)  


  
He decided he'd have to stop and ask for directions. "'Scuse me," he said, flagging down the nearest employee. The man, wearing a Shopper's Food Paradise jersey, had his hair slicked back with grease and was wearing a gaudy tie. He looked like a used car salesman.  


  
"Yes, sir! You look like a man who knows what he wants in a car, so I'm going to get straight to the point with you. We're not going to waste time dickering about sticker price, are we? You just tell me what you're here for and I'll find the car for you!" Apparently he _was_ a used car salesman. Launchpad was a little taken aback.  


  
"Uh, actually, I was just hopin' you could tell me how to get back to the produce section," he said cautiously.  


  
The salesman grinned like a shark and weaved in closer. Everything in his bearing suggested that he was not about to let Launchpad go. "Well, he knows how to drive a bargain, this one does! Ha, ha! No need, sir, no need, we're here to offer you the BEST price around. But I like your style. Let me guess - from the look of you I can tell you need a Sports Utility Vehicle. Nothing smaller will do for you!"  


  
"I really don't remember _what_ I want!" Launchpad protested.  


  
"Did it have four wheel drive?"  


  
"Uh, I think it's more likely it had four kinds of chocolate in it..."  


  
"We have that too!" The salesman clutched at his arm. Launchpad looked around desperately to see if they maybe had a small car that he could buy now, just to get this guy away from him, and then return the next day.  


  
Across the lot, standing in the sunshine and signing a lease, was Beth. He felt a flood of relief, and tugged his arm away from the salesman. "Her!" he said, pointing. "I want to talk to her!"  


  
"But she's not on commission!" protested the salesman, as Launchpad hurried away.  


  
Beth was smiling as she finished signing her name to the contract. A moment later, a man wearing a butcher apron and a cheap suit jacket handed her a set of ornate keys.  


  
"Beth!" said Launchpad, as he caught up to her. "What're you doing here?"  


  
"Oh, Launchpad! Hi!" She turned and shook her keys at him. "I just bought the car of my dreams! Can I give you a lift home?"  


  
If possible, Launchpad felt more even more relieved than before. "Actually, if you could just get me back to to food part of the store, that'd be enough."  


  
"That's no problemo," said Beth happily. She put the keys in her pocket and took him by the hand, leading him away from the salesmen as she twined her fingers around his. He felt a sudden positive certainty that if he just was able to spend enough time with her, he'd remember what he'd come to get. He wouldn't even need to ask her; he'd just know.  


  
"What kind of car did you get?" he asked, to make conversation and hopefully speed the remembering process along.  


  
"A cute little electric number. In green!" He'd never heard her so happy. She was beautiful when she was happy, and so at ease. She walked along slowly, her arm swinging at his side, and he started to feel like the thing he was looking for wasn't so urgent after all. It was just a thing, wasn't it? Being with her was more important. "Did you see anything you liked?"  


  
"I hardly had time. I just wandered in by mistake an' then this guy wanted to sell me an SUV."  


  
"Oh, yeah, they can be really aggressive. You have to know how to handle them." With her free hand, Beth made a fist, as though she was secretly very strong. He laughed, and after a moment, she joined him.  


  
He stopped walking, and kept his hold on her hand, gently tugging her to a stop as well. When she smiled back at him, inquiring with her eyes, he cocked his head and looked at her. "I think I just wanna be with you for a while," he said.  


  
Beth laughed again, a beautiful sound, and stepped back to him. "Well, I think that sounds just right."  


  
Launchpad touched her cheek, then bent and kissed her smile. She slid her arms around him, pulling herself into his embrace, and the grocery store bloomed into flowers.  


  


* * *

  


  
Launchpad awoke and found his cheek was half-plastered to his pillow. He snorted in surprise, momentarily disoriented, and propped himself up on an elbow while he rubbed his eyes. He didn't remember exactly what he'd been dreaming, except that it had been nice.  


  
He checked the clock, and it didn't make sense: it read 4:45, but there was light coming in from the windows. Why was he thinking of Beth? he wondered absently, trying to figure out the presence of early morning daylight. It clicked a moment later - he'd been taking an afternoon nap, and those were always disorienting and had crazy dreams - and then the whole Beth connection dawned on him with an almost audible snap.  


  
"Whoa," he said in a low voice.  


  


* * *

  


  
END  


  
 _To be continued in "Shake, Rattle and Mole"  
_

  
Notes: So this is totally a "Middle" fic with an action plot that has nothing at all to do with Beth, but b-plots galore that are vital to the rest of the series. OH YAY. I think the pacing was off because of it, since I had a ton of character stuff to throw in as well as I could, but a less thick a-plot. Apologies. I hope my next rewrite will go better (I honestly don't know yet, I haven't started it so far, heh...).  


  
As you can see, the final two scenes are pretty pivotal. I am going to take one last opportunity here to beg for feedback. Please let me know if you like the direction these scenes are taking the series in! And you can also let me know if you don't! I mean I can't promise I'll change anything, especially if you don't like the Beth/Launchpad setup. That's... yeah, that's not going anywhere. :P But I'd like to hear your feedback regardless. :) I don't know if it's widely thought that I get a lot of feedback or attention because I've been around so long, but actually, I get very little. And I'd love to hear from everyone who has a thought on this series. :)  


  
There is actually also a deleted scene that takes place in this chapter (I did in fact write out Launchpad's phone call to Beth, but cut it because the chapter was long enough without it), which I've put up on my blog. The link is in my profile, or you can paste this into your browser and replace "dot" with a period: webfootweavingsdotblogspotdotcom.  


  
I'm not sure yet when I will get started on TWC4, though hopefully it'll be soon. I do want to get some work done on "Those Daring McQuacks in their Flying Machines" which is story #16 in this series, so I hope those of you trying not to read ahead will just enjoy the break and not mind not having anything from me for a while. ;) Somehow I doubt that'll be a problem.  


  
Thanks for reading!  
  



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